>  ■ 


■ 

■ 
1 


If. 


SOUTHERN  BRANCH 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA, 

LIBRARY, 

U-OS  ANGELES,  CALIF. 


Racial  Contrasts 


Distinguishing  Traits  of  the 
Graeco-Latins  and   Teutons 


By 


Albert  Gehring 


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!  6  •  2  I 

G.   P.   Putnam's  Sons 

New    York    and    London 

Gbe   "Knickerbocker  press 

1908 


Copyright,  1908 

BY 

ALBERT  GEHRING 


•  •••;•••   .•• 

•    •       ••••"  •    •    •  « 


•        •  •  •       • 

•     •  •  •  1 *• 

•  •  ♦  •  »    • 

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•  ••*.••      •  •  •    •     •    • 


Ube  ftnicfterbochet  |>ress,  Hew  UJorlt 


RACIAL  CONTRASTS 


TO 

MY  WIFE 


Z  1  "*> 

0*2,7 

CONTENTS 

RACIAL  CONTRASTS  : 

PAGB 

I. — Fundamental  Principles         .  .  i 

II. — Music    ......        io 

III. — Literature    .  .  (         .       26 

ci 

IV. — Painting         .....       44 

V. — Architecture  and  Sculpture  .        58 

VI. — General  Considerations         .  .        70 

VII. — Intellectual     and     Emotional 

Characteristics  .  .  .81 

VIII. — Customs  and  Institutions       .         .       95 


a 


« 


vi  Contents 

PAGE 

THE    FLUCTUATIONS    OF    BEAUTY    AND 

MORALITY 115 

ON  HOMOLOGY  OF  THOUGHT  AND  ACTION   .      143 

ON    TEMPORAL    EXPANSION    AND    CONTRAC- 
TION       181 

ORGANIC     EVOLUTION     IN    THE     LIGHT    OF 

COMPARATIVE  PHILOLOGY         .  .  .213 


RACIAL  CONTRASTS 


FUNDAMENTAL    PRINCIPLES 

MOST  prominent  among  the  Aryan  races 
are  the  Grasco-Latins  and  Teutons  : 
besides  the  ancient  Greeks  and  Romans, 
the  former  comprise  the  Italians,  Spaniards, 
Portuguese,  French,  and  Wallachians;  the 
latter  include  the  Germans,  English,  Dutch, 
and  Scandinavians.  Though  resembling  one 
another  in  many  respects  when  compared  with 
non-Aryan  peoples,  these  races  exhibit  striking 
differences  of  character  and  institutions  when 
contrasted  inter  se.  The  Greeks  and  Latins 
are  talkative,  vivacious,  and  quick  in  their 
actions,  the  English  and  Germans  taciturn  and 
deliberative.  The  latter  are  passionate  lovers 
of  nature,  the  former  evince  but  little  en- 
thusiasm for  the  glories  of  Pan.     Southern 


2  Racial  Contrasts 

nations  have  excelled  in  sculpture  and  paint- 
ing, northern  ones  in  music.  Gothic  cathe- 
drals bewilder  with  their  complexity,  Greek 
temples  are  simple  and  of  exquisite  pro- 
portions. 

Some  of  the  distinctions  have  been  merged 
into  broader  ones.  Graeco-Latin  art  may  be 
characterised  as  classic,  Teutonic  art  as  ro- 
mantic, a  generalisation  which  comprises  a 
multitude  of  smaller  differences.  On  the  one 
hand  the  form  is  said  to  receive  more  attention, 
on  the  other  the  significance.  Teutonic  modes 
of  thought  are  inclined  to  be  religious,  south- 
ern nations  manifest  a  tendency  toward  world- 
liness  and  sensuality. 

These  distinctions  are  good  so  far  as  they 
go;  but  they  do  not  go  far  enough.  Many 
are  confined  to  a  single  field,  and  none 
endeavours  to  include  the  whole  mental  and 
artistic  domain  in  a  comprehensive  definition. 
What  has  Italian  impulsiveness  to  do  with 
the  peculiarities  of  Italian  opera;  how  is 
German  taciturnity  connected  with  German 
love  of  counterpoint;  what  is  the  bond  of 
union  between  the  prevalence  of  assassination 
in  southern  countries  and  the  classicism  of 
art;  what  is  the  common  element  in  Teutonic 


Fundamental  Principles  3 

persistency,  religiousness,  and  love  of  nature; 
wherein  lies  the  relation  between  French 
lucidity  of  style  and  French  worldliness? 

Again,  the  distinctions  are  vague  and  gen- 
eral in  nature,  lacking  the  preciseness  desirable 
in  this  age  of  scientific  inquiry.  Romanti- 
cism, classicism,  religiousness,  gaiety,  depth  of 
thought,  are  complex  qualities,  which,  like  the 
concrete  phenomena  of  material  nature,  must 
be  reduced  to  simpler  factors.  Is  it  not  pos- 
sible to  discover  a  few  elementary  distinctions, 
on  which  many  or  most  of  the  picturesque 
differences  between  Graeco-Latin  and  Ger- 
manic life  may  be  found  to  rest?  The 
botanic  classes  of  endogens  and  exogens  are 
distinguished  in  striking  ways.  In  the  former 
the  wood  is  intermingled  with  the  pith 
throughout  the  stem,  the  leaves  are  parallel- 
veined,  and  the  flowers  usually  have  their 
parts  in  threes;  in  the  latter  the  wood  is  sit- 
uated between  a  central  pith  and  an  outer 
bark,  the  leaves  are  reticulated,  and  the  flow- 
ers have  their  pLirts  in  fives  or  fours.  Yet 
all  these  peculiarities  are  the  concomitants 
respectively  of  one  or  two  seed-leaves  in 
the  embryo.  May  not  the  interesting  con- 
trasts of  Graeco-Latin  and  Germanic  civil- 


4  Racial  Contrasts 

isation  similarly  reduce  themselves  to  a 
few  simple  differences  in  the  mental  consti- 
tution of  the  races?  If  we  perforate  a  piece 
of  folded  paper,  we  shall  find  surprising 
variations  of  appearance  upon  opening  it 
again,  in  accordance  with  the  nature  of  the 
impressions.  So  it  is  conceivable  that  the 
vast  differences  in  national  activities  and 
institutions  are  the  result  of  insignificant 
divergences  of  mental  structure. 

Our  aim  will  now  be  twofold.  In  the  first 
place  we  shall  endeavour  to  trace  fundamental 
distinctions  between  the  arts  of  the  races, 
distinctions  which  in  a  general  way  are  valid 
for  all  times  and  nationalities.  Then,  having 
deduced  from  these  the  statement  of  an 
essential  difference  in  mental  nature  between 
the  peoples  in  question,  we  shall  endeavour 
to  trace  this  again  in  their  intellectual  and 
emotional  characteristics,  their  customs  and 
institutions. 

Let  us  plunge  into  the  subject  and  state 
the  distinctions  at  once.  There  are  two: 
(i)  Grasco- Latin  art -works  tend  toward 
clearness  and  simplicity,  Germanic  ones  to- 
ward complexity;  this  complexity  is  based,  in 
some  cases,   on  a  greater  number  and  hetero- 


Fundamental  Principles  5 

geneity  of  factors,  in  others  on  a  certain 
irregularity  in  their  disposition,  or  on  both 
features.  (The  factors  are  mental  as  well  as 
material  in  nature,  the  thought  suggested  by 
a  poem  being  a  factor  just  as  well  as  the 
portal  of  a  building,  the  recognition  of  the 
similarity  between  two  musical  themes  as 
well  as  the  themes  themselves.)  (2)  The 
effectiveness  of  Graeco-Latin  works  depends, 
more  than  that  of  Germanic  ones,  on  the 
material  and  objects  directly  presented;  while 
that  of  Germanic  productions  rests  more 
largely  on  the  affiliations  and  irradiations  of 
the  same, — on  the  connections  or  relations 
between  that  which  is  immediately  given  and 
that  which  is  not.  These  connections  are 
based  on  association,  suggestion,  and  com- 
parison, and  may  involve  different  parts  of 
the  same  work,  recollected  experiences  of  the 
percipient,  or  extraneous  matter. 

The  principles  do  not  apply  only  to  Ger- 
manic and  Grasco-Latin  art,  but  also  to 
modern  art  in  general,  when  contrasted  with 
the  productions  of  the  ancients.  Romance 
works  resemble  those  of  the  Teutons  in  the 
respects  under  consideration,  a  perfectly  in- 
telligible situation;    for  the  modern   Latins, 


6  Racial  Contrasts 

besides  being  mixed  racially  with  the  Teutons, 
have  undergone  the  influence  of  their  thought, 
whence  their  arts  will  naturally  exhibit  some 
Teutonic  characteristics. 

Will  it  be  possible  to  deduce  from  these 
principles  a  conclusion  respecting  the  mental 
nature  of  the  races?  What  would  be  the 
natural  inference  regarding  the  Teutonic 
mind,  which  delights  in  the  perception  of  a 
profusion  and  variety  of  elements  ?  Obviously 
one  would  say  that  the  state  of  mind  exem- 
plified in  the  enjoyment  of  art  was  typical  of 
the  normal  state.  Just  as  the  Teuton  has 
a  greater  wealth  of  material  presented  to  him 
in  his  dramas,  cathedrals,  and  musical  com- 
positions, so  his  mind  is  normally,  in  everyday 
life,  filled  with  a  larger  and  more  involved 
number  of  objects.1  Since,  however,  it  is 
possible  for  only  one,  or  at  most  very  few 
things,  to  stand  forth  with  precision  in  the 
foreground  of  attention,  it  follows  that  we  must 

1  "As  well  as  I  can  judge,  an  educated  Englishman  possesses 
a  stock  of  facts  three  or  four  times  in  excess  of  that  possessed 
by  a  Frenchman  of  corresponding  position — at  least  in  all 
that  relates  to  language,  geography,  political  and  economical 
truths,  and  the  personal  impressions  gained  in  foreign  parts 
by  contact  with  men  and  living  objects." — Taine:  Notes 
on  England,  New  York,  1872,  p.  314. 


Fundamental  Principles  7 

be  conscious  of  all  others  in  a  vague,  indefinite 
way.  These  others  form  a  "penumbra"  or 
"  fringe  "  around  the  foremost  objects  of  atten- 
tion.1 The  statement,  therefore,  that  the  Ger- 
manic mind  grasps  more  objects  than  the 
Graeco-Latin,  might  better  be  put,  that  it 
has  a  richer  "fringe."     We  can  arrive  at  this 

'"Every  definite  image  in  the  mind  is  steeped  and  dyed  in 
the  free  water  that  flows  round  it.  With  it  goes  the  sense 
of  its  relations,  near  and  remote,  the  dying  echo  of  whence 
it  came  to  us,  the  dawning  sense  of  whither  it  is  to  lead. 
The  significance,  the  value,  of  the  image  is  all  in  this  halo 
or  penumbra  that  surrounds  and  escorts  it, — or  rather  that 
is  fused  into  one  with  it  and  has  become  bone  of  its  bone 
and  flesh  of  its  flesh.  ...  It  is  just  like  the  'overtones'  in 
music.  Different  instruments  give  the  'same  note,'  but 
each  in  a  different  voice,  because  each  gives  more  than  that 
note,  namely,  various  upper  harmonics  of  it  which  differ  from 
one  instrument  to  another.  They  are  not  separately  heard 
by  the  ear;  they  blend  with  the  fundamental  note,  and  suffuse 
it,  and  alter  it ;  and  even  so  do  the  waxing  and  waning  brain- 
processes  at  every  moment  blend  with  and  suffuse  and  alter 
the  psychic  effect  of  the  processes  which  are  at  their  culmi- 
nating point.  .  .  .  Let  us  use  the  words  psychic  overtone, 
suffusion,  or  fringe,  to  designate  the  influence  of  a  faint  brain- 
process  upon  our  thought,  as  it  makes  it  aware  of  relations 
and  objects  but  dimly  perceived." — William  James,  The 
Principles  of  Psychology,  New  York,  1890,  vol.  i.,pp.  255-258. 

Our  own  conception  of  the  "fringe"  may  not  agree  in  all 
particulars  with  that  of  Prof.  James,  but  the  agreement  is 
close  enough  to  warrant  the  use  of  the  same  term;  at  any 
rate,  the  term  is  so  well  adapted  for  our  purpose  that,  with 
this  acknowledgment  of  our  indebtedness,  we  feel  free  to 
employ  it. 


8  Racial  Contrasts 

conclusion  by  means  of  the  second  principle 
as  well.  The  material  of  Germanic  works, 
as  we  saw,  has  more  external  relations  than 
that  of  Grasco-Latin  productions.  But  these 
are  the  very  relations  that  constitute  the 
"  fringe."  Art- works,  accordingly,  which 
evoke  the  perception  of  numerous  such  rela- 
tions, presuppose  a  mental  nature  which 
habitually  carries  a  great  number  of  them 
along  with  it. 

The  Germanic  mind,  then,  is  characterised 
by  a  more  prominent  "fringe"  than  the 
Grseco-Latin.  It  delights  in  the  unresolved, 
mysterious  residues  of  experience,  in  the 
buzzing  backgrounds,  the  contrapuntal  play 
of  side-theme  and  pedal  point.  The  Graeco- 
Latin  mind,  on  the  contrary,  loves  clearness 
and  precision.  The  world  which  it  reflects 
is  plotted  off  in  neat  conceptual  charts.  It 
progresses  along  a  straight  line,  in  a  single 
dimension;  the  Teuton's  advance,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  broad  and  bi-dimensional, — harmonic 
and  contrapuntal  rather  than  melodic.  The 
Graeco-Latin  attends  to  but  a  single  object 
at  a  time,  which  he  perceives  clearly  and 
distinctly;  the  Teuton  perceives  a  multitude 
of  surrounding  objects  and  relations  in  ad- 


Fundamental  Principles  9 

dition,  which  tend  to  blur  the  main  topic 
of  thought ;  he  trails  along  with  him  a  shower 
of  mind-dust,  clinging  to  and  surrounding 
the  nucleus  of  attention. 

The  task  now  is  to  trace  the  application  of 
these  principles  throughout  the  activities  of 
the  races,  beginning  with  the  arts,  and  then 
considering  mental  and  emotional  character- 
istics, both  by  themselves  and  as  they  mani- 
fest themselves  in  customs  and  institutions. 
In  considering  the  arts,  we  shall  need  to 
confine  ourselves  largely  to  the  first  two 
principles,  sometimes  invoking  one,  some- 
times another,  but  not  deeming  it  necessary 
to  apply  both  at  the  same  time;  in  treating 
of  the  personal  characteristics  as  well  as  the 
customs  and  institutions,  on  the  other  hand, 
we  shall  more  frequently  make  reference  to 
the  third,  which  is,  indeed,  the  most  funda- 
mental of  the  three.  The  divided  state  of 
mind,  rich  with  promise  and  recollection,  and 
teeming  with  suggestion,  is  the  essence  of 
the  Germanic  spirit;  and  the  abundance  and 
complication  of  objects,  with  their  external 
relations,  are  only  the  outer  correlates  of  this 
state,  which  serve  to  arouse  and  nourish  it. 


II 

MUSIC 

THE  discussion  of  the  musical  art  must 
be  confined  to  modern  races,  as  our 
knowledge  of  ancient  music  is  so  very 
meagre.  A  distinguishing  trait  of  Teutonic 
compositions  is  their  liberal  use  of  counter- 
point. Counterpoint  was  developed  among 
the  Netherlander,  a  nation  partly  Germanic 
and  partly  Celtic  in  derivation.  Two  of  the 
great  names  which  mark  the  evolution  of 
this  method  of  composition,  Okeghem  and 
Willaert,  are  Germanic.  Transplanted  to 
Italy,  counterpoint  bloomed  forth  in  full 
splendour  in  the  works  of  Palestrina;  but  its 
"barbaric"  complexity  soon  led  to  a  reaction 
among  that  people  of  classic  tastes,  which 
resulted    in    the    invention    of    the  simpler 

IO 


Music  ii 

monodic  or  harmonic  style.  Ever  since  that 
time,  counterpoint  has  found  a  more  con- 
genial home  among  the  masters  of  Ger- 
manic extraction.  Bach  was  the  greatest 
of  all  contrapuntists;  Handel,  Mozart,  Bee- 
thoven, Wagner,  and  Brahms  were  all  mas- 
ters of  polyphony;  the  Romanic  races,  on 
the  contrary,  have  devoted  themselves  pre- 
ferentially to  forms  of  composition  which 
did  not  admit  of  florid  contrapuntal  treat- 
ment. 

The  essence  of  counterpoint  is  complex- 
ity. A  single  melody  is  clear  and  simple  in 
nature ;  so  is  a  melody  with  harmonic  accom- 
paniment. Although  the  harmonic  basis  com- 
prises several  tones,  these  are  as  a  rule  not 
perceived  separately,  but  are  incorporated 
with  the  melody,  clinging  to  it  indissolubly, 
like  a  colour  to  a  material  object.  In 
counterpoint,  however,  we  have  two  or  more 
independent  voices  running  along  side  by 
side,  with  or  without  harmonic  accompani- 
ment. The  mind  is  in  a  divided  state  and 
fluctuates  from  part  to  part  in  the  endeavour 
to  hold  all  the  elements  together.  No  clearer 
illustration  of  the  first  principle  could  be 
found. 


12  Racial  Contrasts 

Counterpoint  lends  itself  more  readily  to 
instrumental  than  to  vocal  music.  For  this 
reason  alone  we  might  expect  a  fuller  develop- 
ment of  instrumental  forms  of  composition 
among  the  northern  races,  while  the  southern 
ones  would  lean  toward  the  homophonic 
forms  of  vocal  music.  In  fact,  the  marvellous 
developments  of  the  sonata,  symphony,  and 
chamber  music  are  due  almost  entirely  to 
Germanic  efforts.  But  there  are  other  reasons 
for  this.  Apart  from  counterpoint,  instru- 
mental music  is  well  adapted  for  elaboration : 
it  is  the  chosen  medium  of  thematic  work,  it 
is  favourable  to  the  development  of  intricate 
forms,  and  it  offers  a  splendid  field  for 
instrumental  variety.  Owing  to  the  inter- 
play of  these  four  factors,  an  instrumental 
composition  often  exhibits  a  veritable  maze 
of  objects  and  relations.  The  mind  is  besieged 
on  every  side.  Now  a  theme  will  be  played 
which  was  heard  in  a  previous  part  of  the 
composition,  now  it  will  occur  an  octave 
higher,  appear  in  different  instrumental 
clothing,  or  enter  in  notes  of  shorter  time- 
value.  The  next  moment  it  will  be  ac- 
companied by  another  melody,  and  a 
moment    later    both    melodies   will   yield   to 


Music  13 

a  third.  At  one  instant  a  single  instrument 
will  stand  forth,  at  another  a  whole  group 
may  prevail,  and  anon  the  entire  orches- 
tra surges  forth  in  a  gigantic  burst  of 
sound. 

It  is  evident  that  all  this  forms  an  illus- 
tration of  the  second  principle  as  well,  and 
involves  a  reference  away  from  the  notes 
immediately  heard,  a  comparison  with  parts 
that  have  gone  before  or  are  still  to  come. 
Thematic  work,  instrumentation,  and  musical 
form  demand  such  comparisons.  The  repe- 
tition and  variation  of  themes  arouse  the 
perception  of  resulting  similarities  and  con- 
trasts; musical  form  can  only  be  grasped  by 
a  remembrance  of  the  various  sections;  and 
instrumental  effects  please  us  through  the 
kaleidoscopic  succession  of  tone-colours.  The 
result  is  a  constant  mental  scintillation,  a 
perpetual  looking  backward  and  forward,  a 
ceaseless  weighing  and  comparing  and  con- 
trasting. Nowhere  in  art,  perhaps,  is  this 
observance  of  relations,  this  reference  be- 
yond the  immediate  facts  of  perception,  so 
prominent. 

Here  is  a  section  from  a  Beethoven  sym- 
phony,   which    illustrates    the    points    under 


14 


Racial  Contrasts 


discussion.  The  reader  who  is  not  acquainted 
with  musical  technicalities  may  skip  the 
analysis. 


Flutes  Violins 

\r. — R-  |     r 


rfHHl 


Basses 


Oboes 


Clarinets 


Orchestra 


& 


J1S_ 


t=t: 


-&•— T— I 


^ 


5 


J_4- 


10 


Bassoons 


-m- 


11 


12 


Orchestra 


Music 


15 


II: 


p  13 


:f-5 


^£ 


-lid- 


Violins 


-0h£-»- 

«4= 


Clarinets  14 

Strings  nnd  Bassoon s 


15 


fcfc 


■*-frE5- 


rfi"- 


Z*F>-= 


H- 


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-s>- 


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i-}~}- 


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&=£ 


t= — i — r- 


16 


Cfr"i 


'l  B         •         •         • 

-f.H#-*-t—  1— .■■ 


t=t= 


-1 — 1 — h 


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cresc.     17 


18 


4  4  d 


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— 1— » 


— S>--5- 


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1  1  I  I  M 


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W4X*|^zyy 


This  passage  embodies  a  forest  of  rela- 
tions. Let  us  note  some  of  the  factors  which 
contribute  to  the  effect: 

1 — the  eighth-note  accompaniment  of  the  first 
ten  measures; 


1 6  Racial  Contrasts 

2 — the  melody  of  the  first  twelve  measures,  con- 
sisting of  eleven  little  figures  in  this  rhythm  ( j  .  f>  #' ) , 
each  repetition  involving  a  recognition  of  the  common 
rhythmical  similarity,  and  all  together  yielding 
eleven  perceptions; 

3 — the  structural  similarity  between  measures 
5-8  and  1-4 ;  also  the  more  particular  relation  between 
measures  5  and  1,  6  and  2,  7  and  3,  8  and  4;  total: 
five  elements; 

4 — the  change  of  instruments  in  every  measure  ex- 
cept the  twelfth,  again  yielding  eleven  perceptions; 

5 — the  instrumental  correspondence  between  meas- 
ures 5  and  1,  6  and  2,  7  and  3,  8  and  4,  9,  5  and  1, 
10,  6  and  2, — altogether  six  factors; 

6 — the  expectation,  after  the  first  measures,  of 
the  later  instrumental  changes  and  correspondences; 
strictly  speaking,  these  are  distinct  factors,  but  we 
shall  avoid  over-elaboration  of  analysis  by  incorporat- 
ing them  with  the  perception  of  these  changes  and 
correspondences  themselves; 

7 — the  ascending  figure  in  the  bass,  measures  3-4, 
embodying  two  factors: 

a — the  figure  itself; 

b — the  instrument  playing  it ; 

8 — the  repeated  horn-notes  of  measures  3-4;  as  in 
the  previous  case,  this  involves  two  factors; 

9 — the  bass-figure  of  measures  7-8;  again  there 
are  two  factors,  which  are  doubled  by  the  structural 
and  instrumental  correspondence  with  the  figure 
of  measures  3-4;  total — four  elements; 

10 — the  horn-notes  of  measures  7-8;  the  same  re- 


Music  17 

marks  apply  as  under  9 ;  accordingly,  four  elements ; 

11 — the  doubling  of  the  melody  in  measure  10; 

12 — the  fourfold  duplication  of  the  melody  in 
measure  1 1  (not  indicated  completely) ; 

13 — the  addition  of  the  bassoon  to  the  clarinet 
in  measure  10; 

14 — the  instrumental  change  in  measures  11 -12, 
the  whole  orchestra  replacing  the  single  instruments ; 

15 — the  contrast  in  loudness,  fortissimo  following 
piano. 

These  twelve  measures,  accordingly,  involve 
some  fifty  factors,  in  addition  to  the  individual 
notes.  To  be  sure,  some  of  the  relations  will 
be  fused  together,  and  others  may  escape 
detection  in  the  unhesitating  progress  of  the 
notes ;  but  the  more  adequate  the  appreciation, 
the  more  fully  will  they  be  represented.  Not 
analysing  the  remaining  measures  so  minutely, 
we  merely  indicate  some  of  the  elements 
entering  into  them: 

1 — the  melodic  contrast  with  measures  1-12; 

2 — the  contrary  motion  of  measures  13-14  (counter- 
point) ; 

3 — the  different  instruments  involved  in  it ; 

4 — the  sustained  notes  (B  flat)  accompanying  it; 

5 — the  repetition,  in  measures  17-20,  of  measures 
13-16,  together  with 

6 — their  variation ; 


18  Racial  Contrast 


s 


7 — the  staccato  of  measures  17-20,  as  opposed  to 
the  legato  of  13-16; 

8 — the  contrasts  of  measure  2 1 ,  etc. 

No  attempt  has  been  made  to  form  a  com- 
plete tabulation  of  the  elements,  an  exceed- 
ingly difficult  as  well  as  unnecessary  task. 
It  is  evident  from  what  has  been  shown,  that 
instrumental  music  offers  a  complicated  tissue 
of  perceptions  and  relations.  Contrapuntal, 
thematic,  formal,  and  instrumental  elements 
are  thrown  together  in  bewildering  confusion. 
Furthermore,  there  is  a  ceaseless  reference 
to  and  fro.  The  recognition  of  the  instru- 
mental changes  in  measures  1-11  involves  a 
repeated  comparison  with  preceding  bars  and 
an  anticipation  of  succeeding  ones.  The  as- 
cending figure  of  measures  7  and  8  recalls 
the  corresponding  progression  of  measures 
3  and  4.  The  staccato  of  measures  17-20 
depends  for  its  effect  on  the  contrast  with  the 
legato  of  measures  13-16,  the  thematic  elabo- 
ration of  the  same  bars  on  a  similar  contrast 
with  preceding  parts.  The  mind  is  the 
scene  of  a  constant  ferment ;  gleams  of  thought 
shoot  forth  in  every  direction;  the  notes  are 
connected  by  an  elaborate  network  of  re- 
lations, and  perception,  like  a  busy  shuttle, 


Music  19 

keeps  darting  away  from  those  that  are 
being  played,  and  connecting  them  by  means 
of  the  delicate  threads  of  resemblance  and 
contrast  with  those  that  have  gone  before  or 
are  yet  to  come. 

In  contrast  to  the  complexities  of  instru- 
mental music,  the  French  and  Italians  exhibit 
a  predilection  for  the  simpler  forms  of  vocal 
composition, — more  especially  for  the  opera, 
with  its  un involved  aria  and  recitative.  The 
aria  and  recitative  represent  the  opposite  pole 
of  instrumental  music  as  just  described:  the 
latter  may  be  compared  to  a  Gothic  cathedral, 
the  former  find  their  analogue  in  the  Greek 
statue.  Contrapuntal  elaboration  is  rare; 
thematic  treatment  is  almost  out  of  question; 
instrumental  effects  are  subordinated  to  the 
demands  for  vocal  beauty;  and  form,  while 
present,  is  quite  elementary  in  nature.  There 
is  harmonic  accompaniment  in  the  orchestra, 
to  be  sure,  but  it  is  kept  subdued.  The 
melody  is  everything, — the  melody,  with 
the  exquisite  charm  of  the  prima  donna's 
voice.  Simple,  direct  beauty  forms  the  sub- 
stance of  Italian  opera.  Even  the  corre- 
spondence between  the  character  of  the  tones 
and  the  sentiments  expressed  in  the  text, 


20  Racial  Contrasts 

so  important  nowadays,  is  often  wofully 
lacking,  and  the  music  might  as  appropriately 
be  sung  to  meaningless  syllables  as  to  the 
words  which  are  actually  present. 

But  this  is  not  a  necessary  feature  of  opera. 
The  German  developments  of  this  species  of 
art  have  all  drifted  toward  elaboration,  and 
the  music-dramas  of  Richard  Wagner  rival 
in  complexity  the  fugues  and  symphonies 
of  the  great  instrumental  masters.  Two 
traits  especially  distinguish  German  from 
Italian  opera:  the  closer  agreement  between 
the  words  and  the  music,  and  the  greater 
importance  of  the  orchestra.  The  two  great 
reforms  in  the  direction  of  dramatic  truth, 
i.e.,  of  congruity  between  tones  and  libretto, 
were  inaugurated  by  Germans, — Gluck  and 
Wagner;  but  all  the  great  German  operatic 
writers  of  the  last  hundred  and  fifty  years 
have  laid  stress  on  this  point.  Now  this 
congruity  adds  an  additional  factor  to  the 
perception  of  operatic  numbers,  and  demands 
a  reference  to  and  fro, — from  the  words  heard 
a  moment  ago  to  the  tones  just  being  played, 
and  from  the  sounds  that  have  just  died 
away  to  the  words  that  are  being  uttered; 
thus  illustrating  both  principles. 


Music  21 

The  co-ordination  of  the  musical  and  poetic 
elements  leads  to  greater  independence  of  the 
orchestra,  to  which  is  allotted  the  task  of 
reinforcing  the  text,  and  thus  to  the  charac- 
teristic developments  of  instrumental  music. 
For  this  reason,  and  because  of  their  inborn 
tendencies,  German  composers  have  paid  more 
attention  to  the  orchestral  accompaniment 
than  their  French  and  Italian  neighbours. 
Even  the  conservative  Mozart  was  blamed 
for  placing  the  pedestal  on  the  stage  and 
relegating  the  statue  into  the  orchestra. 
What  would  they  have  said  of  Wagner, 
who  makes  a  mere  instrument  of  the  voice, 
co-ordinate  with  those  beneath  the  footlights  ? 
In  the  music-drama  of  this  master  we  have 
a  form  of  art  which  is  ultra-Teutonic  in  its 
richness  and  complexity, — in  the  number  and 
variety  of  factors  it  presents  to  the  auditor 
and  the  relations  he  is  supposed  to  perceive. 
Not  only  is  every  aspect  of  the  musical  art 
employed,  but  all  the  arts  are  united  in  the 
production  of  a  total  impression.  Architec- 
ture constitutes  the  framework,  painting 
achieves  beautiful  scenic  effects,  histrionic 
art  holds  the  attention  of  the  eye,  poetry 
speaks  to  the  imagination,  and  all  is  fittingly 


22  Racial  Contrasts 

supported  by  music,  employing  every  resource 
at  its  command, — intricate  counterpoint  and 
thematic  work,  wonderful  harmony,  and  en- 
trancing instrumentation.  The  hearer  is  sup- 
posed to  follow  the  action  as  it  logically 
develops,  perceive  the  symbolic  meanings 
which  it  embodies,  hear  the  words,  note  in 
detail  their  correspondence  with  the  music, 
recognise  the  Leit-motifs  and  grasp  their 
significance  as  they  form  a  commentary  on 
the  action,  listen  to  the  contrapuntal  interplay 
of  two  or  three  of  them,  follow  the  instru- 
mental variations,  and — in  the  Ring  of  the 
Nibelung — even  to  connect  the  occurrences 
and  their  musical  counterparts  of  four  succes- 
sive evenings !  There  is  nothing  like  it  in  the 
entire  literature  of  French  and  Italian  opera. 
In  a  later  chapter  we  shall  refer  to  the 
expressive,  suggestive  nature  of  the  art  of 
tones,  comparing  it  with  its  sister-arts  in 
this  respect.  Music  stimulates  the  imagina- 
tion, awakens  fancies,  opens  vistas  of  thought. 
The  voluminous  literature  dealing  with  the 
interpretation  of  symphonic  works  is  a  com- 
mentary on  this  statement.  One  of  the 
most  glowing  appreciations  is  that  in  which 
Heine  describes  the  playing  of  Paganini.     Its 


Music  23 

length  precludes  our  giving  more  than  a  small 
part  of  it. 

Paganini  quietly  placed  the  violin  against  his  chin, 
and,  with  the  first  stroke  of  his  bow,  the  trans- 
figuration of  tones  begun  again.  They  arose  in  peace- 
ful, majestic  waves,  swelling  like  the  notes  of  an  organ 
choral  in  a  cathedral,  and  around  me  everything  had 
extended  in  width  and  increased  in  height,  until  the 
space  was  so  colossal  that  the  eye  of  the  soul  alone 
could  grasp  it.  A  sphere  of  light  floated  in  the  centre 
of  the  space ;  on  it  there  stood  a  man  of  giant  stature 
and  proud  mien,  who  was  playing  on  a  violin;  in  the 
man's  features  I  recognised  those  of  Paganini,  beauti- 
fully idealised,  serenely  clear,  and  wearing  a  smile  of 
forgiveness.  He  was  the  human  planet  around  whom 
the  cosmos  revolved  with  measured  solemnity,  and  to 
the  sound  of  blessed  rhythms.  Were  the  great  lights 
that  shone  so  peacefully  while  they  floated  around 
him  the  stars  of  heaven?  And  were  the  tuneful 
harmonies  produced  by  their  movements  the  music 
of  the  spheres,  concerning  which  poets  and  seers 
have  told  so  many  charming  tales?  When  I,  at 
times,  looked  out  into  the  dim  distance,  I  thought  I 
beheld  nothing  but  giant  pilgrims  clothed  in  undulat- 
ing white  robes.  They  approached  nearer,  bearing 
white  rods  in  their  hands,  and,  strangest  of  all,  the 
golden  heads  of  their  rods  were  the  lights  which  I 
had  mistaken  for  stars.  Forming  an  immense  circle, 
these  pilgrims  marched  around  the  performer,  the 
tones  of  his  violin  adding  greater  lustre  to  their 
rods,  while  the  chorals  that  issued  from  their  lips, 


24  Racial  Contrasts 

and  which  I  had  supposed  to  be  the  music  of  the 
spheres,  were,  in  truth,  the  reverberating  echoes  of 
his  instrument.  The  fervor  of  unutterable  holiness 
dwelt  in  those  sounds.  They  were,  at  times,  tremulous 
and  almost  inaudible,  like  mysterious  whisperings 
on  the  water;  at  others,  swelling  and  breaking  on  the 
air  like  the  tones  of  a  horn  by  moonlight;  and  then 
bursting  forth  with  boisterous  joy,  as  if  a  thousand 
bards  had  struck  the  chords  of  their  harps,  and  had 
lifted  up  their  voices  in  a  song  of  triumph.1 

Nothing  could  express  better  the  power  of 
music  to  awaken  images.  It  is  to  be  noted, 
however,  that  this  power  belongs  more  es- 
pecially to  instrumental  music.  In  vocal  com- 
positions the  mind  is  tied  down  to  the  words 
that  are  being  sung,  and  kept  in  bondage  by 
the  presence  of  the  singer;  the  tones  which 
he  utters  are  a  direct  communication  of  his 
personality,  and  form  a  commentary  on  a 
predetermined  text.  Thus  there  is  not  that 
opportunity  for  a  free  roaming  of  the  spirit 
which  is  offered  by  absolute  music,  where 
the  tones  seem  to  have  a  more  spontaneous 
origin  (especially  in  orchestral  compositions, 
in  which  many  of  the  players  are  hidden), 
and   where   there   is   no   specific   subject   of 

i  Scintillations  from  the  Prose  Works  of  Heinrich  Heine, 
New  York,  1873,  PP-  34-36-     Condensed  from  the  original. 


Music  25 

portrayal.  It  is  in  agreement  with  these 
facts  that  instrumental  music  may  be  styled 
the  "  most  romantic  of  all  arts."  And  herein 
we  may  recognise  a  supplementary  reason  for 
its  special  cultivation  by  the  Germans:  like 
no  other  art  it  allows  the  hearer  to  dream 
and  divine,  and  to  revel  in  the  creations  of 
fancy. 

Although  we  know  but  little  about  ancient 
music,  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  was  extremely 
simple.  Being  confined  to  the  progression  of 
a  single  voice,  it  offered  no  opportunity  for 
the  intricate  combination  of  factors  to  be 
found  in  modern  compositions.  It  was  less 
complicated  even  than  Italian  music,  involved 
fewer  cross  relations  between  the  parts,  and 
thus  yields  a  confirmation  of  the  principles 
so  far  as  ancient  and  modern  music  are 
concerned. 


Ill 

LITERATURE 

THE  illustrations  which  the  principles 
receive  in  literature  are  varied.  Allit- 
eration and  rhyme,  present  only  in 
modern  poetry  and  absent  in  the  writings  of 
the  ancients,  depend  on  the  perception  of 
relations  between  words  immediately  heard 
and  words  heard  a  moment  ago  or  about  to 
be  seized  a  moment  hence,  and  these  are 
additional  objects  for  the  mind.  Metaphors 
and  allegories  are  more  numerous  in  modern 
than  in  ancient  literature.  Their  apprecia- 
tion necessitates  a  reference  from  the  mean- 
ings directly  expressed  to  those  symbolised; 
and  this  again  involves  the  perception  of  ad- 
ditional objects.  Is  figurative  language  more 
common  in  Germanic  than  in  Romance 
works?  It  would  require  exhaustive  study 
to  decide;  but  a  consideration  of  some  of  the 
foremost  writers  on  both  sides  would  seem 

36 


Literature  27 

to  indicate  that  it  is.  Think  of  Shakespeare's 
wealth  of  imagery,  of  Carlyle's  turgid  style, 
of  Emerson,  Lowell,  Heine,  and  Shelley. 
In  the  latter's  Cloud,  comprising  six  stanzas 
and  eighty-four  lines,  one  may  count  some 
seventy  metaphors  and  similes, —  one  for 
almost  every  line.  Here  is  a  passage  from 
Emerson : 

Life  is  a  succession  of  lessons  which  must  be  lived 
to  be  understood.  All  is  riddle,  and  the  key  to  a 
riddle  is  another  riddle.  There  are  as  many  pillows 
of  illusion  as  flakes  in  a  snow-storm.  We  wake  from 
one  dream  into  another  dream.  The  toys  to  be  sure 
are  various,  and  are  graduated  in  refinement  to  the 
quality  of  the  dupe.  The  intellectual  man  requires 
a  fine  bait;  the  sots  are  easily  amused.  But  every- 
body is  drugged  with  his  own  frenzy,  and  the  pageant 
marches  at  all  hours,  with  music  and  banner  and 
badge.1 

Are  similar  accumulations  of  figurative  lan- 
guage common  in  Romance  works? 

Another  feature  characteristic  of  Germanic 
writings  is  their  condensation  of  thought. 
Taine  somewhere  speaks  of  Shakespeare's 
gathering  "a  pageful  of  ideas  and  pictures 
in    half  a  sentence."      Ibsen  loves  to  open 

^Conduct  of  Life,  Boston,  1895,  P-  297- 


28  Racial  Contrasts 

immense  vistas  in  the  suggestive  remarks  of 
his  characters.  Jean  Paul  is  remarkable  for 
wealth  and  compression  of  thought. 

Thoughts  and  sentiments  which  would  grow  into 
colossal  trees,  if  permitted  to  strike  root  properly  and 
develop  all  their  branches,  blossoms,  and  leaves — 
these  he  uproots  while  they  are  still  insignificant 
shrubs,  mere  sprouts  even;  and  whole  intellectual 
forests  are  thus  served  up  to  us  as  an  ordinary  dish. 
Now,  although  curious,  this  is  decidedly  unpalatable 
fare,  for  not  every  stomach  can  digest  such  a  mess  of 
young  oaks,  cedars,  palms,  and  banana  trees. 1 

Emerson,  too,  is  fond  of  pithy,  epigram- 
matic statements  of  extensive  truths.  He 
packs  into  single  sentences  what  another 
would  only  cover  with  lengthy  ratiocinations. 
His  passages  resemble  concatenations  of  prov- 
erbs. A  year  of  experience  is  focussed  into  a 
phrase,  a  lifetime  of  insight  crowded  into 
a  paragraph.  On  account  of  this  compression 
of  thought,  his  sentences,  like  Biblical  verses, 
would  serve  admirably  as  sermon- texts.  In- 
deed, much  of  the  popular  writing  on  spiritual 
subjects  that  has  flourished  on  this  side  of 
the  Atlantic  since  Emerson's  day  is  nothing 
but  an   exegesis   of   the   master,   a  detailed 

•  Heine's  Prose  Writings,  London,  1887,  p.  163. 


Literature  29 

explanation  of  his  oracular  sayings.  But  the 
most  condensed  of  all  is  Walt  Whitman. 
Shakespeare,  Ibsen,  Jean  Paul,  and  Emerson 
still  give  us  sentences;  Whitman  extends  the 
reduction  to  phrases  and  words.  Many  of 
his  passages  are  nothing  but  collections  of 
descriptive  parts  of  speech,  nouns  without 
verbs,  subjects  without  predicates.  With 
single,  well-chosen  expressions  he  suggests 
innumerable  experiences,  with  a  pageful  of 
such  expressions  he  delineates  a  world  of 
scenes  and  happenings.  As  a  sample  of  his 
method  we  may  take  the  following  excerpt 
from  the  Song  of  the  Broad-Axe: 

The  log  at  the  wood-pile,  the  axe  supported  by  it, 
The  sylvan  hut,  the  vine  over  the  doorway,  the  space 

clear' d  for  a  garden, 
The  irregular  tapping  of  rain  down  on  the  leaves  after 

the  storm  is  lull'd, 
The  wailing  and  moaning  at  intervals,  the  thought 

of  the  sea, 
The  thought  of  ships  struck  in  the  storm  and  put  on 

their  beam  ends,  and  the  cutting  away  of  masts, 
The  sentiment  of  the  huge  timbers  of  old-fashion' d 

houses  and  barns, 
The  remember' d  print  or  narrative,  the  voyage  at  a 

venture  of  men,  families,  goods, 
The  disembarkation,  the  founding  of  a  new  city, 


30  Racial  Contrasts 

The  voyage  of  those  who  sought  a  New  England  and 

found  it,  the  outset  anywhere, 
The  settlements  of  the  Arkansas,  Colorado,  Ottawa, 

Willamette. 
The   slow   progress,    the   scant   fare,    the   axe,   rifle, 

saddle-bags ; 
The  beauty  of  all  adventurous  and  daring  persons, 
The  beauty  of  wood-boys  and  wood-men  with  their 

clear  untrimm'd  faces, 
The  beauty  of  independence,  departure,  actions  that 

rely  on  themselves, 
The  American  contempt  for  statutes  and  ceremonies, 

the  boundless  impatience  of  restraint, 
The  loose  drift  of  character,  the  inkling  through  ran- 
dom types,  the  solidification; 
The  butcher  in  the  slaughter-house,  the  hands  aboard 

schooners  and  sloops,  the  raftsman,  the  pioneer, 
Lumbermen  in  their  winter  camp,  daybreak  in  the 

woods,  stripes  of  snow  on  the  limbs  of  trees,  the 

occasional  snapping, 
The  glad  clear  sound  of  one's  own  voice,  the  merry 

song,  the  natural  life  of  the  woods,  the  strong 

day's  work, 
The  blazing  fire  at  night,  the  sweet  taste  of  supper, 

the  talk,   the  bed  of  hemlock-boughs  and  the 

bear-skin. 1 

Thus  he  continues  for  three  pages.  The 
effect  manifestly  depends  on  the  arousal,  in 
the    reader's    mind,    of    numerous    incipient 

i  Leaves  of  Grass,  Philadelphia,  pp.  149-15Q. 


Literature  31 

reminiscences.  Without  this  co-operation,  we 
should  have  mere  dry  and  meaningless  in- 
ventories. How  redolent  with  memory  are 
such  expressions  as  "The  blazing  fire  at 
night,  the  sweet  taste  of  supper,  the  talk, 
the  bed  of  hemlock-boughs  and  the  bear- 
skin." The  reference  to  the  non-given  is  well 
illustrated  by  this  resuscitation  of  personal 
experiences,  the  multiplication  of  factors  by 
the  great  number  of  memories  which  may,  as 
a  result  of  the  condensation,  be  awakened 
by  a  single  page.  It  would  be  impossible  to 
imagine  any  further  augmentation  of  par- 
ticulars. The  page  consists  of  a  score  of  lines, 
the  line  contains  several  descriptive  expres- 
sions, and  every  one  of  these  is  a  rocket, 
opening  into  a  shower  of  suggested  experiences. 
Suppose,  now,  that  •  we  have  read  sym- 
pathetically one  of  these  poems  swarming 
with  details, — what  will  be  our  state  of  mind? 
The  single  expressions  no  longer  stand  forth 
clearly,  but  swim  together  in  a  seething  back- 
ground of  emotion.  This  must  be  the  con- 
dition of  the  poet  as  well,  before  he  has 
begun  with  the  task  of  composition:  a  rich 
matrix  of  inspiration,  with  the  members 
which  are  to  emerge  still  embedded   in  its 


32  Racial  Contrasts 

depths.  Thus  it  typifies  the  mental  nature 
of  the  Teuton,  with  its  fringe  of  relations  and 
halo  of  sentiment. 

The  characteristics  of  Germanic  writing  are 
all  united  in  Jean  Paul.  Whoever  has  not 
glanced  through  his  fantastic  pages  has  no 
conception  of  their  bewildering  heterogeneity 
and  grotesqueness.  The  larger  outlines  al- 
ready impress  us  with  their  strangeness. 
Quintus  Fixlein  opens  with  a  note  to  the 
author's  friends,  in  place  of  the  preface; 
this  is  followed,  not  by  the  preface  itself, 
but  by  the  history  of  the  preface,  which  leads 
into  a  story  entitled  The  Lunar  Eclipse. 
Then  come  two  sketches,  without  direct 
connection  with  the  body  of  the  book.  At 
last  the  narrative  proper  begins.  It  is 
followed  by  several  "Jus  de  tablette,"  again 
without  connection  with  the  story,  which 
end  with  a  postscript,  or  farewell,  to  the 
reader.  But  the  bewilderment  really  begins 
when  we  examine  the  details.  The  author  is 
scarcely  able  to  give  us  a  sentence  without 
some  simile,  metaphor,  allusion,  or  quotation. 
The  course  of  his  exposition  is  a  continual 
zigzag.  Hardly  are  we  launched  on  our  way 
before  we  are  interrupted  with  a  side-thought. 


Literature  33 

He  seems  to  have  read  and  to  be  acquainted 
with  everything;  his  comparisons  are  drawn 
from  every  department  of  nature  and  life; 
botany,  zoology,  music,  history,  geography, 
and  mythology, — all  are  employed  in  the 
elaboration  of  his  thought.  He  is  constantly 
quoting  authors, — obscure  as  well  as  promi- 
nent ones.  English,  Latin,  and  French 
expressions  are  interspersed.  Foot-notes 
abound,  even  sentimental  passages  receiving 
their  scientific  commentaries.  In  the  pathetic 
sketch  from  Quintus  Fixlein  entitled  The 
Moon,  a  poetic  description  of  a  lunar  land- 
scape, in  which  the  blue  of  the  sky  is  referred 
to,  is  supplemented  by  this  explanation: 
'The  blue  colour  of  the  air  must  be  darker 
on  the  moon,  because  the  air  is  thinner,  both 
phenomena  occurring  also  on  mountains." 
Schmelzle's  Reise  nach  Fldtz  is  systemati- 
cally accompanied  by  a  series  of  foot-notes, 
several  for  every  page,  without  connection 
with  the  narrative.  It  is  like  a  passage  of  lite- 
rary counterpoint.  Indeed,  we  cannot  help 
feeling  that  language  was  scarcely  adequate  as 
a  vehicle  for  Jean  Paul's  rich,  glowing  mind, 
and  that  his  Teutonic  spirit  required  the  com- 
plexity of  tones  for  adequate  expression. 


34  Racial  Contrasts 

The  sage  of  Concord  illustrates  the  same 
characteristics.  He  too  loves  figurative  lan- 
guage. With  significant  words  he  opens  deep 
vistas  of  insight.  His  point  of  view  is  per- 
petually changing.  Now  he  speaks  in  the 
singular,  now  in  the  plural,  now  he  jumps  from 
one  person  to  another.  The  older  form  of  the 
third  person  capriciously  alternates  with  the 
newer,  even  in  the  same  sentence. 1  And 
with  the  change  in  form  goes  the  change  in 
the  subject  of  thought.  He  is  thoroughly 
unsystematic.  He  does  not  develop  an  idea 
logically,  from  premise  to  conclusion,  but 
strings  together  a  multitude  of  ready-made 
conclusions.  In  the  quotation  above  he  draws 
illustrations  from  every  source;  at  every  step 
a  fresh  view  opens  before  the  reader ;  the  space 
which  a  lucid  French  writer  would  employ 
for  the  neat  presentation  of  a  single  thought, 
is  broken  up  into  half  a  dozen  sections,  each 
brimful  of  content. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  give  examples  of  the 

1  "For  the  sense  of  being  which  in  calm  hours  rises,  we 
know  not  how,  in  the  soul,  is  not  diverse  from  things,  from 
space,  from  light,  from  time,  from  man,  but  one  with  them 
and  proceedeth  obviously  from  the  same  source  whence  their 
life  and  being  also  proceedeth." — Emerson's  "  Self-Reliance," 
in  Essays,  First  Series. 


Literature  35 

opposite  tendency,  exemplified  in  Romance 
writers.  Here,  as  elsewhere,  we  must  devote 
ourselves  in  the  main  to  Germanic  masters. 
When  we  have  characterised  an  aria  as 
simple  in  structure  and  traced  its  effectiveness 
to  melodic  and  tonal  beauty,  or  stated  that  a 
dissertation  is  stylistically  pure  and  proceeds 
systematically,  presenting  a  few  thoughts 
in  a  clear  and  orderly  manner,  there  is  little 
more  to  be  added.  Germanic  works,  on  the 
contrary,  with  their  picturesque  heterogeneity, 
lend  themselves  well  to  illustration.  On  ac- 
count of  their  condensation  and  richness  of 
content,  furthermore,  the  illustrations  need 
not  be  long.  If  we  were  to  exhibit  the  paucity 
of  metaphors  in  a  French  work,  or  demonstrate 
its  logical  development  of  thought,  excerpts 
of  considerable  length  would  be  necessary. 
Examples,  however,  can  easily  be  found;  the 
reader  has  but  to  turn  the  pages  of  the  great 
masters  of  prose,  who  have  made  the  liter- 
ature of  France  so  famous  throughout  the 
world. 

We  come  to  the  drama.  Graeco-Latin 
drama  culminates  in  the  masterpieces  of  Greek 
tragedy  and  the  equally  wonderful  creations 
of  the  period  of  Louis  XIV.,  Germanic  drama 


36  Racial  Contrasts 

in  the  works  of  Shakespeare.  The  contrast 
could  not  be  greater.  Macbeth  contains 
twenty -eight  characters,  Racine's  Phaedra 
contains  eight;  Julius  Cczsar  has  thirty-four 
personages,  Philoctetes  (Sophocles)  has  five. 
In  general,  complexity  and  picturesqueness 
characterise  the  works  of  the  English  bard, 
simplicity  and  plasticity  those  of  the  Greeks 
and  their  modern  imitators.  The  latter  ob- 
serve the  unities,  the  former  disregard  them. 
In  classic  plays  the  action  all  occurs  at  one 
place,  in  British  dramas  we  are  transported 
from  scene  to  scene.  In  Macbeth,  for  example, 
the  locality  changes  twenty-four  times.  And 
with  the  shifting  of  scenes  go  the  variations 
in  time.  In  the  classic  drama  the  action  is 
supposed  to  happen  within  a  period  not 
greatly  exceeding  the  actual  representation; 
in  the  other,  days  and  weeks  elapse  between 
the  acts.  This,  too,  introduces  variety,  adds 
to  the  number  of  factors,  and  multiplies  the 
references  from  one  portion  of  the  play  to 
another. 

Then  there  is  the  unity  of  action.  Graeco- 
Latin  works  contain  a  single  plot,  about  which 
everything  revolves;  with  Shakespeare  there 
are  two  or  three,  dovetailed  into  each  other 


Literature  3  7 

and  alternating  before  the  spectator.  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream  has  three  distinct 
centres  of  action:  the  story  of  the  lovers,  that 
of  Bottom  and  his  band  of  players,  and  that 
of  Oberon  and  Titania.  The  Merchant  of 
Venice  depicts  the  fortunes  of  Shylock  and 
Antonio,  Portia  and  Bassanio — including  the 
episodes  of  the  caskets  and  the  rings — and  of 
Jessica  and  her  lover.  Add  to  the  great  num- 
ber of  personages,  variety  of  scenes,  and  differ- 
entiation of  action,  the  constant  change  from 
prose  to  poetry,  blank  verse  to  rhyme,  and  the 
intermixture  of  comic  with  tragic  elements, 
and  we  obtain  a  thoroughly  Gothic  effect. 

This  effect  is  not  confined  to  Shakespeare. 
The  German  dramatists  have  also  shown 
themselves  partial  to  it.  Probably  no  drama 
is  so  typically  Germanic  in  this  respect  as 
Goethe's  Faust.  It  is  like  a  museum  in  the 
number  and  variety  of  objects  it  presents 
to  the  reader;  it  encompasses  the  entire 
world,  combining  Christian  tradition,  mediae- 
val superstition,  Greek  mythology,  modern 
criticism,  philosophy,  religion,  science,  and 
politics  into  one  immense  picture,  and  strew- 
ing thoughts  of  wonderful  depth  throughout, 
with  endless  profusion.     The  whole  work  con- 

&  R  7  9  1 


38  Racial  Contrasts 

tains  some  fifty  scenes,  and  there  are  over 
two  hundred  individual  speakers,  besides 
about  seventy  groups.  We  pass  from  heaven 
to  earth,  from  the  wine-cellar  at  Leipzig  to  the 
wilds  of  the  Harz  Mountains;  we  dream  with 
the  lovers,  enter  the  cathedral,  and  listen  to  the 
Dies  ircz;  we  deliberate  with  emperors,  pass 
back  to  antiquity,  converse  with  Helen  the 
beautiful,  deal  with  witches,  angels,  spirits, 
sirens,  and  furies ;  Anaxagoras  and  Thales  speak 
to  us,  the  modern  idealist  unfolds  his  views, 
Philemon  and  Baucis  regale  us  with  their 
hospitality,  and  mystic  strains  lead  us  back 
to  Heaven.  Byron's  Manfred  resembles  Faust 
in  the  picturesque  intermixture  of  scenes 
and  the  profusion  of  supernatural  forms;  and 
Shelley's  Prometheus  Unbound  forms  an  ex- 
cellent companion-piece.  The  contrast  be- 
tween Greek  and  Teutonic  methods  is  aptly 
illustrated  by  a  comparison  between  this 
drama  and  the  Prometheus  Bound  of  ^Eschylus. 
The  latter  is  simple  and  bare,  when  contrasted 
with  the  romantic  panoramas,  the  variety 
of  characters,  the  mystic  suggestiveness,  the 
colour  and  glow  and  intensity  of  Shelley's 
masterpiece. 

Graeco-Latin    literature    may    broadly    be 


Literature  39 

characterised  as  classic,  Germanic  literature 
as  romantic.  What  are  the  distinguishing 
traits  of  the  classic  and  romantic;  how 
may  both  be  defined?     Heine  says: 

The  treatment  is  classic  when  the  form  of  that 
which  is  portrayed  is  quite  identical  with  the  idea 
of  the  portrayer,  as  is  the  case  with  the  art-works  of 
the  Greeks.  .  .  .  The  treatment  is  romantic 
when  the  form  does  not  reveal  the  idea  through  this 
identity,  but  lets  this  idea  be  surmised  parabolically.1 

Hedge  says: 

We  speak  of  romantic  characters,  romantic  situa- 
tions, romantic  scenery.  What  do  we  mean  by 
this  expression?  Something  very  subtle,  undefinable, 
but  felt  by  all.  If  we  analyse  the  feeling  we  shall  find, 
I  think,  that  it  has  its  origin  in  wonder  and  mystery. 
It  is  the  sense  of  something  hidden,  of  imperfect  reve- 
lation.2 

Another  definition  is  given  by  Walter  Pater : 

It  is  the  addition  of  strangeness  to  beauty  that 
constitutes  the  romantic  character  in  art;  and  the 
desire  of  beauty  being  a  fixed  element  in  every  artis- 
tic organisation,  it  is  the  addition  of  curiosity  to 
this  desire  of  beauty  that  constitutes  the  romantic 
temper.3 

»  Heine's  Prose  Writings,  London,  1887,  p.  163. 

2  "  Classic  and  Romantic, "Atlantic  Monthly, vol.  lvii.,  p.  309. 

3  "Romanticism,"  Macmillan's,  vol.  xxxv.,  p.  65. 


4o  Racial  Contrasts 

The  definitions  do  not  coincide;  yet  they 
harbour  a  common  element.  According  to 
them  all,  the  romantic  involves  a  reference 
from  the  given  to  the  non-given.  A  story 
can  only  be  symbolic  of  something  not 
directly  indicated.  What  is  hidden  is  not 
immediately  presented.  Strangeness  presup- 
poses imperfect  revelation,  and  curiosity  has 
the  hidden  or  unknown  for  its  object.  Thus, 
by  mixing  together  the  definitions,  we  obtain 
an  old  friend  as  a  precipitate, — i.  e.,  the  second 
principle.  A  wild  mountain  scene,  a  pictur- 
esque castle,  the  paintings  of  Rembrandt, 
Goethe's  Faust,  the  compositions  of  Schumann, 
— all  are  romantic ;  the  circumstances  may  be 
different,  but  there  is  always  a  reference  be- 
yond the  immediate  facts  of  sense, — a  meaning, 
an  expression,  which  is  not  enclosed  in  the 
objective  data.  The  castle  suggests  bygone 
ages,  valiant  knights,  brilliant  tournaments, 
crusades,  and  the  historical  events  of  the 
intervening  centuries.  The  compositions  of 
Schumann  point  beyond  the  tones,  to  the 
emotions  and  visions  of  which  they  are  an 
embodiment.  Rembrandt's  dark  backgrounds 
arouse  the  imagination.  Goethe's  Faust  calls 
up  many  thoughts  which  are  not  indicated 


Literature  4* 

in  the  words.  The  mountain  scene  frees  a 
horde  of  suggestions,  so  subtle  for  the  greater 
part  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  specify  them. 
The  impression  is  always  that  of  a  "beyond," 
of  a  content  not  entirely  encompassed  by  the 
objects  before  us;  the  scene  or  work  of  art  is 
open  on  one  side  and  leads  into  a  back- 
ground transcending  perception. 

Classic  works,  on  the  other  hand,  are 
completely  enclosed;  we  can  see  around  them, 
and  circumscribe  them  with  sharp,  distinct 
lines.  They  are  but  meagrely  suggestive. 
They  lay  the  emphasis  on  direct  beauty,  on 
clearness,  proportion,  and  elegance.  Perfec- 
tion of  form  rather  than  wealth  of  content  is 
their  distinguishing  trait.  They  embody  a 
perfect  finite,  while  the  others  strive  for  the 
infinite.  For  these  reasons,  Grseco-Latin 
writers  have  always  been  noted  for  their 
beauty  of  style:  witness  the  poets  of  Greece, 
the  orators  of  Rome,  and  the  writers  of 
modern  France.  There  is  an  attention  to 
euphony,  a  care  in  the  selection  of  words,  and 
an  exquisite  taste  in  their  arrangement,  that 
is  not  so  frequent  among  the  Teutons.  Hence, 
also,  those  periods  of  decadence  in  the  history 
of  Grseco-Latin  literature,  when  the  content 


42  Racial  Contrasts 

of  works  was  neglected  and  attention  was 
focussed  on  the  beautiful  expression. 

Scientific  and  philosophic  writings  again 
corroborate  the  principles.  Here,  too,  the 
external  is  beautiful  in  the  south,  while  the 
philosophers  of  the  north — notably  the  Ger- 
man idealists — have  engendered  some  of  the 
worst  monsters  of  style  ever  launched  on 
the  literary  ocean.  In  the  north  great  atten- 
tion is  paid  to  details.  The  English  are  the 
champions  of  empiricism,  of  the  accumulation 
and  classification  of  facts.  And  never  in  the 
history  of  the  world  have  such  voluminous 
researches  been  undertaken  as  those  enclosed 
in  the  bulky  volumes  of  German  scientific  and 
philosophical  investigation.  They  bewilder  us 
with  the  multitude  of  facts;  they  overwhelm 
and  crush  us  beneath  their  weight,  if  we  are  not 
equipped  with  the  armour  of  grim  determina- 
tion. The  Latins  love  clear  and  simple  views. 
They  reason  deductively,  passing  from  premise 
to  conclusion  in  a  regular,  orderly  manner. 
Logical  inference,  not  intuition,  is  their  method 
of  thought;  they  are  rationalists,  while  their 
Teutonic  neighbours  have  produced  the  major- 
ity of  great  mystics.  Owing  to  their  eagerness 
to  arrive  at  simple,  general  views,  and  their 


Literature  43 

dislike  of  patient  investigation,  they  some- 
times fall  into  superficiality.  The  French 
materialistic  philosophy  of  the  eighteenth 
century,  for  example,  with  its  excessive 
simplification  of  the  universe,  shows  the 
defects  of  this  type  of  mind. 


IV 
PAINTING 

IN  the  case  of  painting,  again,  our  fragmen- 
tary knowledge  of  ancient  art  makes  it 
more  profitable  to  confine  our  examina- 
tion to  modern  races.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
determine  whether  there  are  less  figures  in 
southern  than  in  northern  pictures.  On  the 
one  hand  portrait-painting,  which  merely 
offers  a  single  object  to  the  eye,  has  received 
greater  attention  in  the  north.  Northern 
artists,  however,  may  have  been  driven 
toward  this  branch  of  the  art  partly  through 
accidental  circumstances.  The  churches  of 
the  south  offered  larger  wall-spaces  for  decora- 
tion than  the  cathedrals  of  the  north.  South- 
ern painters  thus  had  a  field  of  activity  and  a 
source  of  income  which  were  not  open  to  their 
transalpine  brothers,  who  were  obliged  to  exer- 
cise their  talents  in  different  directions.  The 
realistic  trend  of  Germanic  artists  and  their 

44 


Painting  45 

love  of  expression  undoubtedly  helped  to 
impel  them  toward  the  study  of  countenances. 
But  so  far  as  a  picture  is  expressive,  it  acts 
through  the  affiliations  of  that  which  is 
directly  given,  even  apart  from  the  pro- 
nounced reference  to  the  original  reproduced. 
Thus  portraits  may  exemplify  Germanic  tastes 
with  reference  to  the  second  principle.  And, 
since  an  expressive  countenance  may  sug- 
gestively stir  up  many  thoughts  in  the  mind 
of  the  observer,  they  may  even  embody  a 
certain  subconscious  complexity. 

Passing  by  this  branch  of  the  art,  however, 
there  seems  to  be  no  doubt  that  the  tendency 
of  Germanic  works  is  toward  greater  wealth 
of  material.  A  characteristic  trait  of  early 
Flemish  and  German  paintings  is  their  ex- 
traordinary elaboration  of  detail.  The  minu- 
tiae of  clothing,  articles  of  furniture,  and 
scenic  backgrounds  receive  as  much  attention 
as  the  more  important  features.  In  early 
German  art,  too,  there  was  the  peculiar 
crowding  of  compositions;  and  the  multiplied 
and  angular  folds  of  the  drapery,  while  not 
elegant,  tended  to  increase  the  points  of 
attention.  Italian  artists  stripped  their  pic- 
tures of  accessories.     Many  of  the  most  famous 


46  Racial  Contrasts 

among  them  as  a  rule  introduced  but  a  limited 
number  of  figures.  Giotto,  Bellini,  Raphael, 
and  Titian  are  examples.  Alberti  believed 
that  a  certain  moderation  in  this  respect  lent 
dignity  to  a  composition.  Michael  Angelo 
criticised  the  northern  custom  of  painting 
"landscapes,"  with  "many  figures  scattered 
here  and  there."  Rubens,  on  the  other 
hand,  delighted  in  a  bewildering  profusion 
of  elements.  Think  of  his  Battle  of  the 
Amazons,  his  Kermesse,  his  Resurrection  of 
the  Just,  and  Fall  of  the  Damned.  Even 
Michael  Angelo 's  composition  on  the  same 
subject  pales  before  the  Munich  masterpieces 
in  point  of  wealth  and  complexity.  Durer, 
too,  loved  an  exuberance  of  factors,  as  is 
evidenced  by  his  wood-cuts  to  the  Apocalypse. 
The  pictures  of  Bosch  and  of  the  Breughels  are 
cases  in  point ;  nor  must  we  forget  to  mention 
the  complex  scenes  of  Hogarth.  Not  only  do 
the  works  enumerated  illustrate  the  tendency 
to  include  an  abundance  of  elements,  but 
many  of  them  also  bear  witness  to  the  lack 
of  harmony  mentioned  in  the  first  chapter. 
By  some  critics  this  is  regarded  as  a  short- 
coming,— as  if  the  artist  were  willing  enough 
to  attain  perfection  of  form,  but  lacked  the 


Painting  47 


ability  to  do  so.  Is  it  not  more  probable 
that  perfect  smoothness  and  balance  were  in 
many  cases  not  desired?  There  is  no  doubt 
that  a  certain  amount  of  confusion  imparts  a 
suggestiveness  which  is  absent  where  every- 
thing is  well-rounded  and  perfect.  As  a  final 
comment  on  the  situation  we  must  recur  to  the 
large  wall-spaces  in  the  south.  These  are 
certainly  accountable  for  many  of  the  richer 
compositions  of  Italian  painters,  and  without 
them  the  difference  in  national  trends  would 
be  still  more  apparent.  We  can  gain  an 
idea  of  what  northern  artists  would  have  done 
under  similar  circumstances  if  we  study 
the  immense,  involved,  and  symbolic  repre- 
sentations of  Kaulbach,  in  the  Museum  of 
Berlin. 

The  figures  in  northern  works,  as  a  rule, 
embody  more  individuality;  they  are  more 
heterogeneous,  while  those  in  the  south  tend 
toward  homogeneity.  It  may  not  always  be 
easy  to  determine  whether  there  are  more 
distinct  figures  in  the  paintings  of  Germanic 
artists,  but  it  is  clear  that  they  are  more 
distinct.  There  is  much  sameness  in  the  faces 
and  poses  of  southern  paintings.  As  a  result, 
the  mind  is  not  engaged  in  so  many  directions ; 


48  Racial  Contrasts 

a  group  of  people  can  often  be  perceived  as  a 
single  object — a  mere  group;  the  battalions 
cf  Meissonier,  for  example,  "sing"  in  unison; 
in  the  north,  on  the  contrary,  the  constituent 
figures  demand  more  attention.  This  indi- 
viduality and  heterogeneity,  this  tendency 
of  the  figures  to  break  away  from  the  central 
point  of  attention,  is  apparent  in  the  works 
of  Rubens.  With  Rubens,  to  be  sure,  as 
with  the  Italian,  French,  and  Spanish  artists, 
there  is  unity  of  composition:  the  figures 
belong  together;  they  are  constituents  of  a 
ruling  topic,  a  single  chosen  subject  of  repre- 
sentation. In  the  case  of  many  Germanic 
artists,  however,  the  heterogeneity  is  extended 
even  to  the  subjects  portrayed,  creating 
various  nuclei  of  interest.  There  is  no  central 
point  of  action  or  position,  unifying  all  the 
elements  into  a  single  scheme;  the  figures  are 
dispersed,  or  combined  into  various  groups 
without  connection  with  one  another. 

This  is  evident  in  the  pictures  of  certain 
Dutch  and  Flemish  artists, — of  Van  Steen, 
Ostade,  Wouwerman,  Teniers,  and  the  Breugh- 
els;  it  characterises  numerous  works  of  Lucas 
Cranach ;  it  is  a  distinguishing  trait  of  Hogarth; 
and  it  appears  among  modern  German  artists. 


Painting  49 


Van  Steen's  Flemish  Festival,  in  the  Louvre, 
will  serve  as  an  example.  In  the  foreground 
we  see  a  group  of  musicians.  To  the  right 
there  is  a  table,  with  people  drinking,  chatting, 
and  joking  around  it, — one  hilarious  individual 
even  standing  on  it  and  shouting  across  the 
chamber.  To  the  left  a  man  is  trying  to  pull 
a  woman  out  of  the  embrace  of  an  amorous 
burgher.  Immediately  behind,  another  is 
taking  his  leave  and  paying  the  hostess,  while 
an  anxious  wife  is  endeavouring  to  persuade 
her  tipsy  husband  to  moderate  his  antics;  he, 
however,  insists  on  entering  the  lively  dance 
progressing  in  the  rear  of  the  room.  Card- 
players,  spectators  in  the  balcony,  a  sleeping 
dog,  jugs,  plants,  and  various  other  acces- 
sories complete  the  scene.  The  total  effect 
is  that  of  a  "delightful  confusion,"  perfectly 
analogous  to  the  miscellaneous  hubbub  of 
sounds  which  we  can  almost  hear  while  gazing 
on  the  scene.  The  relation  to  the  secondary 
plots  of  Shakespeare  is  apparent. 

Hogarth's  Rake  in  the  Madhouse  is  similar 
in  composition.  All  possible  types  of  mad- 
ness are  crowded  in  utter  confusion  into  a 
room  of  moderate  dimensions.  In  one  corner 
sits  the  brooding  hypochondriac,  undisturbed 


So  Racial  Contrasts 

even  by  the  dog  that  is  barking  loudly  at  him ; 
behind  him  the  imaginary  pope  is  chanting  a 
song,  and  at  his  side  a  crazy  fellow  is  energeti- 
cally playing  a  violin,  his  note-book  on  his 
head.  The  raving  rake,  who  is  being  chained 
by  an  attendant  and  soothed  by  a  friend, 
occupies  the  middle  of  the  scene;  near  him 
a  tailor,  with  tape-measure  in  hand,  is  still 
plying  his  trade,  and  in  the  background  several 
ladies  are  regarding  the  scene  with  amuse- 
ment. To  the  left  of  the  rake  an  astronomer 
is  busy  observing  the  heavens  through  a 
paper  roll,  while  a  mathematician  is  tracing 
longitudinal  lines  on  the  wall.  The  imaginary 
king,  sitting  straight  in  his  majesty,  with 
sceptre  in  hand  and  crown  on  head,  together 
with  the  religious  fanatic,  who  lies  crouching 
before  the  cross,  occupy  separate  little  com- 
partments to  the  extreme  left.  The  mind 
bristles  with  side-thoughts  and  gleams  of 
suggestion,  as  it  follows  the  confusing  compo- 
sition. Examples  could  easily  be  multiplied. 
Wouwerman's  Arrival  at  the  Inn  contains  about 
eight  different  groups,  or  centres  of  action. 
Kaulbach's  Period  of  the  Reformation  focalises 
the  events  of  several  centuries.  Richter's 
Praise   of   Woman   delineates   the   beneficent 


Painting  51 

activities  of  the  wife  and  mother.  The 
mental  process,  in  grasping  such  a  picture, 
is  similar  to  that  involved  in  the  appreciation 
of  complex  passages  of  music;  here,  also, 
we  have  counterpoint,  thematic  work,  and 
variety  of  tone.  Perception,  instead  of  re- 
volving about  a  common  centre,  flashes  off 
to  either  side,  contrasts  and  similarities 
crowd  upon  one  another,  and  the  mind 
teems  with  a  multitude  of  thoughts. 

Southern  paintings,  like  classic  dramas, 
observe  the  unities.  There  is  a  single  centre, 
to  which  everything  refers.  Nothing  diverts 
the  attention  from  this, — no  secondary  plots, 
no  by-plays  of  action.  In  many  cases  the 
figures  are  symmetrically  grouped  about  it, 
half  of  them  to  the  right  and  half  to  the  left, 
with  their  glances  directed  toward  the  centre. 
Where  variety  demands  that  one  or  more 
turn  the  eyes  in  a  different  direction,  the 
device  is  often  adopted  of  making  them  point 
with  the  hand  toward  the  central  figures. 
Examples  are  to  be  found  in  Perugino's 
Assumption,  Correggio's  Madonnas  with  St. 
Francis,  St.  Sebastian,  and  St.  George,  and 
in  the  Assumption  of  Titian. 

In  the  north  the  dispersion  culminates  in 


5 2  Racial  Contrasts 

the  Breughels.  It  would  be  difficult  to  im- 
agine anything  more  chaotic  than  the  Alle- 
gorical Representation  of  the  Triumphs  of 
Death,  or  the  Flemish  Proverb.  Hogarth  and 
Van  Steen  are  simplicity  itself,  when  com- 
pared with  these  seething  caldrons  of  vivid 
imagination.  There  is  a  very  maze  of  activ- 
ities; everything  under  the  sun  passes  before 
our  eyes;  the  mind  is  dazed  when  it  endeav- 
ours to  grasp  the  heterogeneous  elements  in 
their  totality  and  interconnection.  The  works 
in  question  resemble  the  poems  of  Walt  Whit- 
man, in  the  multitude  of  objects  embodied. 
Now  in  these  cases  the  "delightful  confusion 
of  mind"  is  aroused  by  definite  objects,  which, 
being  too  numerous  to  be  held  distinctly 
before  consciousness,  swim  together  in  a 
vague  background  of  thought.  At  other  times 
the  objects  may  be  less  definite,  but  their 
suggestiveness  and  multiplicity  render  them 
equally  effective.  Natural  scenes,  landscapes, 
contain  so  many  elements  that  we  no  longer 
try  to  attend  to  them  separately,  but  allow 
them  to  simmer  along  semi-consciously,  near 
the  threshold  of  thought  and  feeling.  The 
writhing,  swarming  multitude  subsides  into 
a  widespread,  gentle  vibration,  the  chaos  of 


Painting  53 


*& 


voices  is  transformed  into  a  subdued  hum. 
There  is  still  a  multiplication  of  objects,  how- 
ever, and  a  reference  beyond  what  is  directly 
perceived. 

In  agreement  herewith  we  find  landscape- 
painting  cultivated  preferentially  by  northern 
artists.  Claude  Lorraine  and  Corot  were 
Frenchmen,  to  be  sure,  but  they  were  ex- 
ceptions: Romance  painting  occupies  itself 
in  the  main  with  the  representation  of 
figures,  while  Germanic  painting  naturally 
gravitates  toward  the  landscape.  Further- 
more, Germanic  scenes  are  often  highly 
mysterious  and  suggestive,  thus  incipiently 
arousing  multitudinous  thoughts.  Witness 
the  weird  creations  of  Bocklin,  the  sombre, 
melancholy  views  of  Ruysdael,  and  above 
all  the  imaginative  vistas  of  Turner.  What 
stimulating,  Gothic  complexity  in  his  Death 
of  Nelson,  what  turmoil  and  wildness  and 
clamour  in  his  Shipwreck!  The  effect  is 
analogous  to  that  of  Breughel's  creations,  only 
the  confusion  of  thoughts  is  subconscious  in 
nature ;  to  compensate  for  their  indistinctness, 
however,  the  mental  elements  may  even  be 
more  numerous.  Mystery,  accompanied  •  by 
a  large  activity  of  the  fringe,  is  a  characteristic 


54  Racial  Contrasts 

also  of  the  works  of  Rembrandt,  with  their 
magical  interplay  of  light  and  shade;  indeed, 
even  his  portraits  operate  in  the  same  manner. 

They  unite  utter  realism  with  a  look  as  if  the  soul 
of  the  sitter  had  risen  for  a  moment  to  the  surface, 
and  was  just  about  to  tell  its  history  from  the 
speaking  eyes  and  lips — yet  after  all  had  suddenly 
retreated,  and  left  you  in  doubt  as  to  what  it  had  meant 
to  say.  This  curious  suggestiveness  is  a  feature  in 
all  Rembrandt's  best  efforts.1 

A  noticeable  trait  of  Germanic  painting 
is  its  realism,  apparent  already  in  the  early 
German  masters,  characteristic  of  the  Dutch 
and  Flemish  schools,  and  continued  by  Eng- 
lish artists.  While  it  is  not  our  purpose  to 
reduce  this  trait  entirely  to  the  principles 
under  consideration,  we  can  show  that  it  is 
in  harmony  with  them  and  serves  as  the 
occasion  for  their  application.  By  reason 
of  their  realistic  nature,  Germanic  pictures 
suggest  many  things  which  are  not  brought 
to  mind  by  the  idealised,  conventional,  and 
abstractly  beautiful  canvases  of  the  south. 
Definite  situations  are  presented,  events  are 
narrated,  thoughts  aroused,  and  morals  en- 

i  Radcliffe,  Schools  and  Masters  of  Painting,  New  York, 
1895,  p.  318. 


Painting  55 

forced.  This  is  notoriously  true  of  the  works 
of  Hogarth,  and  it  has  remained  a  distinguish- 
ing feature  of  British  painting  since  his  time. 
The  state  of  mind,  in  studying  such  a  picture, 
resembles  that  of  the  serial  story  reader,  when 
at  the  end  of  the  chapter  he  bumps  against 
the  words:  "To  be  continued."  The  picture, 
also,  is  continued  in  the  mind;  it  reverberates 
beyond  the  frame,  and  suggests  further 
images,  actions,  truths,  and  problems.  The 
composition  in  its  totality  relates  a  story: 
it  is  a  chapter  in  a  novel  of  absorbing  interest. 
The  single  figures  and  objects,  likewise,  are 
significant:  the  time  on  the  clock,  the  gouty 
foot  of  the  titled  father,  the  bills  in  the 
servant's  hand,  the  escaping  lover,  the  half- 
starved  dog, — all  point  to  facts  and  occur- 
rences not  directly  apparent.  Finally,  a  moral 
is  supposed  to  be  enforced,  a  lesson  taught. 
The  works  of  Hogarth  are  extreme  in  these 
respects,  but  their  characteristics  are  traceable 
throughout  Germanic  art.  In  the  picture  by 
Van  Steen,  for  example,  the  anxious  wife 
remonstrating  with  her  husband,  the  amorous 
couple,  and  the  leavetaker  who  is  paying  his 
bill,  suggest  further  ideas  to  the  observer. 
The    numerous    utensils    and    appliances    cf 


56  Racial  Contrasts 

everyday  life  in  this  and  similar  Dutch 
pictures  are  significant  of  the  activities  con- 
nected with  them.  Holbein's  Dance  of  Death 
and  Diirer's  famous  engravings  are  didactic 
creations,  sermons  dripping  with  symbolism 
and  meaning. 

In  contrast,  the  idealistic  productions  of 
Italian  art  are  completely  enveloped  by  the 
frame :  the  whole  content  is  there  on  the  canvas 
and  no  reference  need  be  made  beyond  its 
confines.  The  subjects  of  representation  are 
so  familiar  through  endless  repetition  that 
but  little  attention  is  paid  to  their  narrative 
communications :  we  perceive  beautiful  figures 
and  groupings  without  bestowing  a  thought 
on  their  significance.  This  result  follows  also 
from  the  abstract,  conventionalised  nature 
of  the  figures  and  the  actions  represented. 
We  hardly  take  the  persons  seriously,  at 
times,  when  they  attempt  to  do  things; 
they  pose  and  make  a  pretence  of  acting, 
but  the  tingle  and  definiteness  and  zest  of  real 
action  is  missing. 

The  subjects  in  these  paintings  are  pre- 
dominantly taken  from  ancient  and  sacred 
history,  i.  e.,  from  a  region  which  is  foreign  to 
the  interests  of  the  beholder.     Those  of  the 


Painting  57 

realistic  Dutch  and  British  genre  pictures, 
on  the  contrary,  are  drawn  from  everyday 
life.  Accordingly,  they  make  a  strong,  per- 
sonal appeal,  recalling  many  intimate  experi- 
ences of  the  observer's  own  past,  and  drawing 
on  the  distant  and  invisible  for  their  effect. 

Many  of  the  characteristics  dwelt  upon 
may  be  summed  up  in  the  statement  that 
southern  painting  pleases  through  form,  north- 
ern painting  through  expression.  As  in  music, 
the  Italian  mind  demands  direct  beauty, — 
of  contour,  composition,  and  colour.  The 
figures  must  be  graceful,  the  faces  pure  and 
sweet.  The  northern  artist,  on  the  contrary, 
troubles  himself  but  little  about  immediate 
beauty.  Many  Teutonic  works,  notably  those 
of  the  earlier  German  schools,  are  positively 
repugnant  at  first  sight,  by  reason  of  their 
general  roughness,  and  the  homeliness  of  the 
faces.  It  is  only  when  we  penetrate  beyond 
the  surface  and  study  the  inner  life  which 
pulsates  beneath,  that  we  perceive  their 
real  worth.  Truth,  significance,  depth  of 
thought,  wealth  of  emotion, — these  are  the 
animating  influences  of  the  Teutonic  artist, 
in  painting  as  well  as  in  literature. 


ARCHITECTURE  AND  SCULPTURE 

EUROPEAN  architecture  culminates  in 
two  great  types  of  structure :  the  Greek 
temple  and  the  Gothic  cathedral.  The 
former  belongs  to  the  ancient  world,  the 
latter  to  the  modern;  the  former  is  an  index 
of  the  Graeco-Latin  spirit, — does  the  latter 
express  the  Teutonic?  It  has  been  contended 
by  some  that  it  does;  indeed,  the  name  "Ger- 
manic" has  even  been  proposed  as  a  substitute 
for  "Gothic."  It  seems,  however,  as  if  this 
claim  were  somewhat  unwarranted.  The  fol- 
lowing are  the  facts  which  bear  on  the  case. 
Gothic  architecture  was  developed  in  north- 
eastern France,  among  a  population  that 
was  largely,  perhaps  predominantly,  Ger- 
manic in  extraction.  The  more  purely  Celtic 
and  Romanic  districts  of  France  shared  but 
little  in  the  development  or  further  cultivation 
of    the    style.     From    its    cradle    the    style 

58 


Architecture  and  Sculpture  59 

spread  in  every  direction, — toward  England, 
Germany,  the  Netherlands,  into  classic  Italy 
and  distant  Spain.  In  Spain  it  remained  a 
foreign,  exotic  product,  architects  from  the 
north  being  constantly  employed.  In  Italy 
its  reception  was  even  less  cordial;  the  style 
was  modified  to  suit  southern  demands  and 
soon  was  abandoned  for  the  more  congenial 
revival  of  antique  methods.  Germanic  coun- 
tries, on  the  contrary,  proved  very  hospitable 
to  the  new  method.  England,  Germany,  and 
the  Netherlands  took  hold  of  it  with  a  will, 
and  produced  masterpieces  of  Gothic  con- 
struction. Indeed,  the  reign  of  Gothic  was 
more  lasting  here  than  in  its  own  native  land. 
In  France  the  style  flourished  luxuriantly 
for  a  century,  after  which  there  was  a  marked 
abatement  in  its  cultivation.  In  Germanic 
lands,  on  the  contrary,  its  rule  was  protracted ; 
indeed,  so  far  as  England  is  concerned,  it 
seems  hardly  to  have  died  out,  being  taken 
up  again  in  modern  times  after  a  brief  period 
of  quiescence.  To  sum  up,  the  style  origi- 
nated in  a  region  thoroughly  sprinkled  with 
Germanic  elements;  it  was  assiduously  culti- 
vated in  all  important  Teutonic  lands,  but  more 
conservatively  received  in  Latin  domains;  its 


60  Racial  Contrasts 

most  lasting  cultivation,  furthermore,  is  to  be 
found  in  Anglo-Saxon  England.  Although, 
then,  we  cannot  pronounce  it  a  purely  Teu- 
tonic style,  it  is  more  Teutonic  than  anything 
else;  above  all,  it  is  not  to  be  classed  as  a 
Graeco-Latin  manifestation. 

So  much  being  premised,  we  may  pass  to  a 
comparison  of  the  two  types  of  building  under 
consideration.  The  contrast  is  striking.  Sim- 
plicity could  go  no  further  than  in  the  Greek 
temple.  The  building  was  moderate  in  size, 
uninvolved,  and  decoration  was  reduced  to 
a  minimum.  Everything  could  be  seized 
at  a  glance.  The  effectiveness  depended  on 
the  beauty  of  the  material,  and  the  elegance 
and  proportion  of  the  lines, — all  immediate 
qualities.  How  different  in  Gothic  cathedrals ! 
Look  at  these  mazes  of  elements,  these  forests 
of  pillars  and  buttresses,  these  armies  of 
statues,  these  pinnacles  and  spires,  these 
painted  windows,  these  profuse  decorations; 
join  the  worshippers  and  listen  to  the  inton- 
ing of  the  priest,  follow  the  ornate  service, 
breathe  the  incense,  and  bow  in  reverence 
before  the  solemn  chords  of  the  organ.  How 
romantic,  how  mystic  it  is, — how  expressive 
of  the  imaginative  nature  of  the  Teuton,  how 


Architecture  and  Sculpture  61 

opposed  to  the  clear  and  precise  mind  of  the 
Greek  and  Latin !  The  first  principle  receives 
no  better  confirmation  throughout  the  entire 
domain  of  art,  but  the  second,  too,  is  illustrated; 
Not  only  are  the  forms  intricate,  they  are 
also  symbolic;  they  point  beyond  themselves, 
and  overflow  with  meaning.  The  ground-plan 
represents  the  cross  of  the  Saviour,  the  walls 
stand  for  the  nations,  the  circular  window 
symbolises  the  rose  of  eternity. 

The  principle  is  also  illustrated  by  the 
profusion  of  elements.  In  considering  the 
temporal  arts,  music  and  literature,  we  saw 
how  previous  parts  of  a  work  would  linger 
on  in  memory,  forming  a  cluster  of  simulta- 
neous elements  and  multiplying  the  objects 
before  the  mind.  Conversely,  a  profusion  of 
simultaneous  elements  will  necessitate  a  se- 
quential perception  and  involve  references 
from  one  part  of  the  work  to  another.  A 
Greek  temple,  as  we  saw,  could  be  seized 
at  a  glance.  Not  so  a  Gothic  cathedral.  Its 
gigantic  size  and  multiplicity  of  members 
render  it  necessary  to  pass  from  part  to  part. 
Expectation  will  be  aroused,  comparisons 
made,  what  is  directly  perceived  will  be 
enjoyed  in  the  light  of  what  follows  or  pre- 


62  Racial  Contrasts 

cedes.  Finally  the  immense  heights,  the 
vagueness  of  the  distant  recesses,  the  mys- 
terious, subdued  light,  the  general  air  of 
strangeness  and  solemnity,  will  stimulate  the 
imagination;  and,  like  the  romantic  poems 
of  Shelley  and  the  paintings  of  Rembrandt, 
fill  us  with  a  hovering  sense  of  wonder  and 
significance. 

The  Renaissance  styles  of  architecture  were 
developed  mainly  by  Latin  races.  The  build- 
ings which  they  produced  were  more  elaborate 
than  those  of  ancient  Greece,  but  less  so  than 
the  cathedrals  of  the  Middle  Ages.  They 
stand  midway  between  the  two  extremes  and 
thus  exemplify  the  principles  with  reference  to 
ancient  and  Romance  as  well  as  Romance  and 
Teutonic  races.  In  Germany  the  Renaissance 
produced  more  picturesque  buildings  than  in 
France  and  Italy,  giving  play  to  expectation 
and  fancy.  The  elaborate  Moorish  and  By- 
zantine styles  were  cultivated  in  Latin  do- 
mains, to  be  sure,  but  they  were  not  purely 
Grasco-Latin  in  nature,  their  very  complexity 
being  the  result  of  Oriental  influence. 

Last  among  the  arts  is  sculpture.  Modern 
sculpture  is  distinguished  from  the  ancient  art 
by  its  greater  expressiveness.      Regard  the 


\ 


Architecture  and  Sculpture  63 

placid  countenances  of  Greek  statues,  and 
observe  the  contrast  in  Donatello's  creations. 
Above  all,  study  the  intense,  expressive, 
romantic  figures  of  Michael  Angelo;  watch 
the  inner  life  as  it  seeks  to  find  an  outlet  in 
the  significant  features,  tense  muscles,  and 
rebellious  attitudes  of  these  petrified  Titans  I 
The  most  remarkable  feature  about  sculp- 
ture, however,  is  its  meagre  cultivation  as  an 
independent  art  among  the  nations  of  the 
north.  With  the  Greeks  it  was  the  national 
art.  Statues  abounded  on  every  hand;  thou- 
sands have  been  discovered,  and  untold  num- 
bers must  have  been  destroyed  by  the  ravages 
of  war  and  time.  The  Italians  also  found  it 
congenial  to  their  nature :  Luca  della  Robbia, 
Ghiberti,  and  Canova  did  admirable  work; 
and  the  figures  of  Michael  Angelo  rank  with 
the  Madonnas  of  Raphael  as  the  masterpieces 
of  Italian  art.  What  do  we  find  among  the 
races  of  Germanic  composition  ?  A  few  good 
attempts  in  early  Nuremberg;  some  noble 
creations  by  Thorwaldsen;  a  fragment  here 
and  there,  but  no  great  art-movement,  no 
connected,  persistent  endeavour,  nothing  that 
could  be  pronounced  a  powerful  school,"  and 
compared  with  the  brilliant  periods  of  ancient 


64  Racial  Contrasts 

Greece  or  the  Renaissance.  In  England,  so 
rich  in  poets,  hardly  a  sculptor;  in  the  Low 
Countries,  so  fertile  in  painters,  scarcely  a 
statue.  What  is  the  explanation  of  this 
dearth  of  creative  activity? 

We  are  brought  to  the  subject  of  the  rela- 
tive cultivation  of  the  various  arts,  or  their 
racial  and  geographical  distribution.  Is  it 
possible  to  throw  some  light  on  this  by  means 
of  our  principles?  Sculpture  is  the  art  which 
by  its  nature  lends  itself  least  well  to  the 
presentation  of  involved  subjects,  with  many 
external  relations.  The  intractable  nature 
of  the  marble  limits  the  complication  of  the 
groups  and  renders  the  reproduction  of  scenic 
and  atmospheric  effects  difficult.  The  typical 
embodiment  of  this  art  is  the  single  figure, 
without  background  and  colour.  There  may 
be  some  expression,  as  in  the  marbles  of 
Michael  Angelo,  but  beyond  this  the  reference 
away  from  the  direct  objects  of  perception 
is  not  likely  to  go.  The  effectiveness  lies 
in  the  statue  itself,  its  exquisite  proportions, 
the  gracefulness  of  its  lines,  and  the  beauty 
and  purity  of  its  material.  Is  it  surprising, 
then,  that  the  art  should  have  been  cultivated 
so   extensively   by   the   Graeco-Latins,    while 


Architecture  and  Sculpture         65 

the   Teutons   have   treated   it   almost   as   if 
non-existent  ? 

Painting  and  architecture  are  able  to 
present  an  abundance  and  variety  of  objects 
to  the  eye,  but  unless  the  objects  are  highly 
suggestive  or  so  numerous  as  to  require  succes- 
sive perceptions  for  their  appreciation,  they 
will  not  demand  much  reference  beyond 
that  which  is  directly  given.  The  converse  is 
true  in  literature.  Language  being  temporal 
in  nature,  works  of  art  which  employ  it  as 
a  vehicle  will  constantly  invoke  a  reference 
from  the  words  which  are  being  read  to  those 
which  have  preceded  or  are  yet  to  come; 
expectation,  for  example,  is  nowhere  so 
strongly  aroused  as  in  the  novel  or  drama. 
The  second  principle,  then,  which  deals  with 
relations  like  these,  is  exemplified;  but  the 
first,  which  concerns  the  number  and  variety 
of  factors,  is  not  so  easy  of  application.  Since 
the  words  are  confined  to  a  single  dimension, 
no  two  ever  uniting  at  the  same  time,  the 
direct  and  simultaneous  presentation  of  vari- 
ous objects,  as  in  painting  and  architecture, 
is  not  possible.  This  end  is  therefore  attained 
indirectly,  through  metaphors  and  allegories, 
through  the  persistence  in  memory  of  past 


66  Racial  Contrasts 

elements  or  the  anticipation  of  future  ones, 
and  through  general  suggestiveness  and  ex- 
pression. Painting  and  architecture,  in  short, 
lend  themselves  naturally  to  an  application 
of  the  first  principle,  but  not  necessarily  to 
that  of  the  second;  literature,  on  the  con- 
trary, naturally  agrees  with  the  second,  but 
not  with  the  first.  Accordingly,  we  find  the 
honours  about  evenly  divided  between  the 
races  with  reference  to  these  three  arts. 
Grecian  architecture  is  matched  by  the  Gothic 
structures  of  the  Middle  Ages ;  Germany,  Hol- 
land, and  England  have  their  great  painters 
as  well  as  the  Latin  countries;  and  it  would 
be  difficult  to  determine  which  of  the  races 
should  be  ranked  higher  in  literature, — the 
Graeco-Latins,  with  their  Homer,  Dante, 
and  Racine,  or  the  Teutons,  with  their 
Shakespeare,  Milton,  and  Goethe. 

If  sculpture,  however,  stands  at  one  end 
of  the  scale  with  reference  to  our  principles, 
and  the  three  arts  just  considered  occupy 
a  rather  neutral  medium,  absolute  music 
represents  the  other  extreme.  In  sculpture 
there  is  no  succession;  hence  there  is  no 
necessary  reference  beyond  that  which  is 
immediately  presented,  while  a  multiplication 


Architecture  and  Sculpture  67 

of  objects  is  difficult.  Music,  however,  like 
poetry,  demands  a  constant  reference  from 
the  tones  immediately  heard  to  those  which 
have  preceded  or  are  about  to  resound;  but, 
unlike  literature,  it  requires  in  addition  a 
union  of  several  voices,  a  simultaneous  pre- 
sentation of  various  factors.  The  very  nature 
of  the  art  renders  it  easy  and  natural  to 
offer  many  elements  to  the  hearer, — elements, 
furthermore,  which  do  not  depend  on  their 
own  qualities  for  their  effectiveness,  but  re- 
fer away  from  themselves  to  related  parts. 
And  no  art  is  so  well  adapted  to  arouse 
vague  fancies  and  nourish  a  rich  activity  of 
the  fringe.  The  forms  of  architecture  are  too 
dead  and  mechanical  to  be  highly  suggestive. 
Those  of  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture  are  so 
closely  wedded  to  the  things  denoted  that  they 
are  not  considered  apart  from  them;  we  di- 
rectly perceive  the  import  of  the  words  or  fig- 
ures, the  sign  being  identical  with  the  thing 
itself.  Music,  however,  occupies  an  intermedi- 
ate position.  The  tones  are  suggestive,  but 
they  are  not  tied  down  to  definite  symbolisa- 
tion.  Hence  the  thoughts  which  they  arouse 
are  adventitious  in  nature;  like  sparks  from 
a  revolving  piece    of  fireworks,  they  do  not 


68  Racial  Contrasts 

belong  to  the  generating  body.  It  is  in  per- 
fect agreement  with  the  facts,  then,  that  ab- 
solute music  should  be  the  favourite  art  of  the 
Germans,  the  art  which  most  adequately 
expresses  the  Teutonic  spirit.  Switzerland  has 
its  Raff,  Austria  boasts  of  Haydn  and  Mozart, 
the  north  claims  Gade  and  Grieg,  and  Germany 
exhibits  a  whole  galaxy  of  geniuses,  so  well 
known  that  an  enumeration  is  superfluous. 
The  Netherlands,  it  is  true,  have  produced 
no  instrumental  composer  of  first  rank;  but 
Beethoven  was  of  Dutch  descent,  and  the 
whole  trend  of  Flemish  contrapuntal  music 
makes  it  certain  that  the  Flemings  would 
have  cultivated  absolute  music  assiduously, 
had  it  been  existent  at  the  time. 

An  obstacle  in  the  way  of  our  interpretation 
arises  from  the  lack  of  musical  genius  among 
the  English.  It  may  be,  however,  that  the 
capacity  is  only  latent;  talents  have  fre- 
quently slumbered  for  centuries,  and  at  the 
time  of  Purcell  musical  England  stood  on 
a  par  with  other  nations,  giving  excellent 
promise  for  the  future.  Or  it  may  be  that 
there  are  special  circumstances  in  the  life 
of  the  English  inimical  to  musical  develop- 
ment.    The  principles  we  are  tracing  are  not 


Architecture  and  Sculpture         69 

the  only  ones;  they  are  modified  by  other 
characteristics,  and  more  still  by  the  accidents 
of  historical  evolution.  At  all  events,  the 
paucity  of  musical  productions  among  the 
English  points  to  a  lack  of  aptitude  for 
the  tonal  art  in  general,  not  for  the  complex 
developments  of  absolute  music.  If  the 
British  nation  were  to  become  musical,  the 
general  affinity  with  other  Germanic  races 
makes  it  not  improbable  that  it  would  like- 
wise devote  itself  to  contrapuntal,  thematic, 
and  instrumental  elaboration. 


VI 
GENERAL  CONSIDERATIONS 

WE  are  now  ready  to  compare  our 
principles  with  some  others  which 
have  been  proposed  for  an  explana- 
tion of  the  differences  involved.  Everywhere 
they  will  be  found  to  supplement  and  explain ; 
they  are  the  foundation,  while  the  others  are 
but  particular  appearances  or  applications. 
There  is  the  distinction  between  the  classi- 
cism and  romanticism  of  the  races.  Though 
comprehensive,  this  fails  to  cover  many  cases 
explained  by  these  principles.  The  com- 
plexities of  German  instrumental  music  have 
nothing  to  do  with  romanticism;  indeed,  there 
are  few  manifestations  of  art  so  unromantic 
as  the  fugues  of  Bach.  And  there  is  nothing 
romantic  in  the  realistic  pictures  of  the 
Dutch  artists,  nor  in  the  minute  attention 
to  details  of  the  old  German  and  Flemish 
schools.     In  fine,  while  romantic  impressions 

70 


General  Considerations  71 

may  be  explained  as  illustrations  of  the 
principles,  there  are  many  illustrations  which 
do  not  fall  under  the  heading  of  romanticism. 
Another  distinction,  valid  to  a  considera- 
ble extent,  is  that  between  the  formal 
perfection  of  Grseco-Latin  works  and  the 
lack  of  outward  beauty  often  characterising 
those  of  the  Teutons.  The  structure  of 
the  southern  drama  is  superior  to  that  of  the 
north;  the  unities  are  preserved,  and  in 
general  there  is  a  fastidious  attention  to 
externals  which  is  rarer  in  Germanic  poets. 
Likewise  the  Latin  races  embody  more  beauty 
of  colour,  composition,  and  contour  in  their 
pictures;  think,  in  this  connection,  of  Diirer's 
inelegant  figures!  In  sculpture,  finally,  the 
southern  talent  for  exquisite  proportions 
receives  its  finest  exhibition.  But  is  the 
principle  valid  in  architecture?  Formal  per- 
fection is  of  course  easier  to  achieve  in  simple 
structures  like  the  Greek  temple;  but  making 
allowance  for  this  fact,  do  we  not  find  an 
exquisite  arrangement  of  masses,  a  charm  of 
detail,  in  northern  cathedrals,  that  rivals  the 
works  of  the  south  ?  And  how  is  it  in  music  ? 
Are  the  compositions  of  Bach,  Mozart,  and 
Beethoven  less  perfect  than  the  marbles  of 


72  Racial  Contrasts 

Phidias  or  the  tragedies  of  Racine?  Would 
it  seem  possible  to  carry  formal  beauty  any 
further? 

In  poetry,  painting,  and  sculpture  perfec- 
tion of  form  is  likely  to  be  attained  only  at 
a  sacrifice  of  wealth  and  complexity.  Unity 
and  clearness  of  composition  in  a  painting 
is  apt  to  set  bounds  to  the  suggestiveness ; 
unity  of  time,  place,  and  action  in  a  drama 
frequently  entails  a  certain  baldness  of  effect. 
On  the  other  hand,  irregularities  of  colour 
and  contour  stimulate  the  imagination;  and 
the  zigzag  style  of  Jean  Paul,  with  its  meta- 
phors, allusions,  and  side-thoughts,  tends  to 
arouse  that  broad,  two-dimensional  flow  of 
thought  which  is  so  perfectly  mirrored  in 
musical  counterpoint.  In  architecture  and 
music,  perfection  of  form  is  attainable  without 
these  curtailments.  There  is  no  limit  to  the 
size  of  a  building  and  the  richness  of  its 
ornamentation,  except  the  coffers  of  the 
builder  and  the  mechanical  ingenuity  of  the 
mason.  And  music,  as  we  have  seen,  natu- 
rally includes  many  elements  in  its  onward 
sweep,  and  connects  the  various  parts,  as 
they  succeed  one  another,  with  a  network  of 
relations.     Instrumental,  thematic,  and  con- 


General  Considerations  73 

trapuntal  intricacies  fill  the  mind,  and  make 
it  unnecessary  to  resort  to  vagueness  and 
irregularity.  The  Teuton,  indeed,  is  not 
averse  to  perfection  of  form,  but  he  will  not 
buy  it  at  a  sacrifice  of  wealth  and  complexity ; 
where  he  can  retain  these,  as  in  music  and 
architecture,  he  proves  himself  as  adept  in 
managing  proportions  as  his  southern  brother. 

The  works  of  the  Teutons  are  said  to  be 
more  expressive  than  those  of  the  Graeco- 
Latins.  This  is  true,  but  the  statement  is 
only  a  special  instance  of  the  second  principle. 
If  a  thing  is  expressive,  it  refers  to  something 
beyond  itself,  not  contained  in  its  direct 
impression.  But  there  are  many  such  refer- 
ences and  relations  which  are  not  cases  of 
expression ;  witness  the  perception  of  similarity 
in  two  rhyming  words,  and  the  successive  in- 
strumental and  thematic  contrasts  in  a  musical 
composition.  Our  own  principle,  accordingly, 
seems  more  adequate,  as  it  covers  all  the 
cases  of  expression  and  likewise  includes 
those  which  cannot  be  explained  by  the  other. 

Again,  there  is  the  distinction  between  the 
realistic  nature  of  northern  works,  and  the 
more  abstract,  idealised  character  of  those  in 
the  south.     In  painting  this  is  fundamental, 


74  Racial  Contrasts 

and  it  applies  in  literature.  But  the  presen- 
tative  rather  than  representative  nature  of 
architecture  and  music  makes  it  meaningless 
to  speak  of  fidelity  of  reproduction  or  of 
idealisation  in  their  case.  The  distinction, 
therefore,  is  not  so  broad  as  the  ones  proposed 
in  these  pages.  And  it  is  doubtful  whether  it 
is  so  fundamental.  Alongside  of  the  realistic 
tendency  of  Germanic  art,  there  is  a  mystical, 
romantic  current,  which  is  thoroughly  ideal- 
istic. Must  there  not  be  some  deeper  state- 
ment of  the  facts,  accordingly,  which  unites 
the  two  opposing  tendencies?  Romanticism, 
we  have  seen,  may  be  brought  within  the  scope 
of  the  second  principle.  But  realism,  we  know, 
also  agrees  in  certain  respects  with  Teutonic 
traits  of  mind  as  exhibited  in  the  foregoing 
chapters.  In  addition  to  the  points  of  agree- 
ment already  indicated,  we  may  mention  the 
following:  What  is  real  and  particular  implies 
a  richer  connotation,  a  more  comprehensive 
"fringe,"  than  what  is  generalised.  To  the 
qualities  of  the  "genus"  are  added  those  of 
the  "  species."  Hence  the  vivid  genre  pictures 
of  the  Dutch,  as  we  have  seen,  awaken  more 
associations  than  the  neutral  canvases  of  the 
south.     Again,    realism    implies    a    constant 


General  Considerations  75 

reference,  by  way  of  comparison,  to  the 
original  of  imitation,  and  a  love  of  truth, 
in  preference  to  the  specious  shows  of  illusion. 
Southern  selection  and  abstraction,  on  the 
contrary,  evince  a  greater  love  of  symmetry 
and  proportion.  In  general  we  have  another 
case  of  the  classic  leaning  toward  form,  as 
opposed  to  the  northern  demand  for  sub- 
stance and  meaning. 

So  much  for  a  comparison  of  the  different 
explanations.  The  varied  application  of  the 
second  principle  bears  witness  to  its  funda- 
mental nature.  In  alliteration,  rhyme,  the- 
matic work,  and  musical  form,  the  reference 
is  from  one  part  of  the  work  to  another.  In 
metaphors  and  allegories  it  is  from  the  direct 
to  the  symbolic  meaning  of  the  words.  Some- 
times a  moral  is  indicated,  as  in  the  pictures 
of  Hogarth.  Romantic  poems  refer  to  dis- 
tant climes  and  epochs,  to  the  personality 
of  the  author,  or  the  personal  experiences 
of  the  reader;  also  to  the  infinite  powers  sup- 
posed to  encompass  nature  and  life.  At 
times,  again,  there  is  a  mere  general  reference, 
an  outward-pointing  without  definite  object; 
the  impression  is  that  of  a  "beyond  "or"  more," 
of  a  content  not  exhausted  by  the  things  before 


76  Racial  Contrasts 

us.  In  all  these  respects  we  find  the  Teutons 
on  one  side  of  the  fence,  the  Grasco-Latins 
on  the  other. 

It  may  be  alleged  that  we  have  merely 
collected  a  score  of  cases  corroborating  the 
principles,  while  ignoring  those  that  point 
the  other  way;  but  the  great  number,  variety, 
and  importance  of  the  illustrations  preclude 
this  supposition.  Our  examples  were  drawn 
from  every  art,  covered  every  historical  period, 
applied  to  the  greatest  masters,  and  explained 
the  most  important  distinctions  between  the 
racial  methods  and  tastes.  It  would  be  diffi- 
cult to  name  a  more  fundamental  difference 
between  Romance  and  Germanic  music  than 
that  exhibited  in  the  instrumental  complex- 
ities of  the  latter  as  contrasted  with  the  vocal 
simplicity  of  the  former.  Again,  the  dis- 
tinction between  the  romanticism  and  class- 
icism of  literature  is  essential  in  nature.  The 
same  is  true  of  the  contrast  between  the 
formal  perfection  characterising  southern 
works,  and  the  awkwardness,  even  ugliness, 
often  exhibited  by  those  in  the  north;  the 
views  propounded  not  only  explain  these 
features  when  they  are  present,  but  like- 
wise account  for  the  cases  in  which  they  are 


General  Considerations  77 

absent.  The  contrasts  between  classic  and 
Shakespearean  drama  are  typical;  Greek  and 
Gothic  architecture  represent  two  opposite 
poles;  and  there  are  few  more  significant 
features  than  the  dearth  of  great  sculptural 
works  among  Teutonic  nations.  Clearly,  prin- 
ciples which  cover  such  important  manifesta- 
tions must  be  regarded  as  essential  in  nature. 

To  be  sure,  exceptions  occur.  There  are 
classic  writers  among  the  Teutons,  romantic 
ones  among  the  Graeco-Latins.  Indeed,  whole 
periods  are  sometimes  coloured  by  a  tendency 
running  counter  to  the  normal  one.  France 
had  its  romantic  drama,  England  underwent 
the  influence  of  the  French  classicists;  but 
such  cases  afford  no  criterion.  Nobody  would 
pick  out  the  Moses  of  Michael  Angelo  as  a 
representative  product  of  the  Latin  mind; 
and  nobody  would  proclaim  Goethe's  I  phi- 
genie  as  the  normal  embodiment  of  the 
Teutonic  spirit.  We  must  take  a  broad  view, 
survey  the  artistic  manifestations  in  their 
totality,  and  lay  particular  stress  only  on  the 
more  typical,  salient  masters  and  productions. 

One  explanation  of  the  peculiarities  of 
Graeco-Latin  and  Germanic  works  might 
rival  that  which  we  have  proposed.     Classic 


78  Racial  Contrasts 

works  antedated  modern  ones.  Now,  sim- 
plicity naturally  comes  before  elaboration. 
The  Doric  and  Ionic  orders  preceded  the 
ornate  Corinthian  capital.  Gothic  architec- 
ture sprang  from  the  simpler  methods  pre- 
vailing before  its  time  and  grew  more  involved 
in  the  course  of  its  development.  Music  be- 
gan with  a  single  voice.  Part  after  part  was 
added,  until  finally  we  meet  with  composi- 
tions for  eight,  sixteen,  thirty-two,  and  even 
more  voices.  The  same  tendency  manifested 
itself  after  the  introduction  of  the  monodic 
method.  The  harmonies  of  the  older  mas- 
ters were  extremely  simple.  The  classic 
Mozart  was  regarded  as  an  innovator,  and 
Beethoven  surpassed  everything  that  had 
been  witnessed  before  his  time.  The  tendency 
has  continued,  Wagner  having  accustomed 
us  to  such  a  wealth  of  harmonic  colour  that 
the  simple  diet  of  the  older  masters  seems 
insipid.  Instrumentation,  too,  has  been  grow- 
ing more  complex,  and  the  elaborate  scores 
of  Richard  Strauss  indicate  that  the  culmina- 
tion has  not  yet  been  reached.  Naturally, 
then,  we  should  expect  more  richness  and 
complexity  from  modern  productions,  without 
invoking  racial  or  national  differences. 


General  Considerations  79 

Although  this  view  may  account  for  some 
of  the  phenomena,  it  is  inadequate  as  a 
complete  explanation.  To  begin  with,  it  only 
shifts  the  question.  It  may  seem  to  explain 
why  modern  productions  are  more  involved 
than  ancient  ones,  but  it  fails  to  account  for 
the  excessive  simplification  of  the  latter.  Why 
did  not  the  Greeks  develop  their  productions 
to  greater  elaboration;  why  should  their  art 
have  remained  so  very  plain?  Again,  it  fails 
to  account  for  the  differences  between  Ro- 
mance and  Teutonic  art.  Since  there  was 
more  artistic  continuity  between  the  modem 
Latin  and  ancient  races  than  between  the 
Teutons  and  the  ancients,  French,  Italian, 
and  Spanish  works  ought  to  be  more  com- 
plex than  English  and  German  ones;  but  the 
contrary  is  true.  In  the  third  place  there 
are  two  arts  which  in  modern  times  have 
undergone  an  independent,  quasi  original 
development;  modern  painting  is  not  based 
primarily  on  ancient  models,  and  music,  as  an 
art,  hardly  existed  before  the  Middle  Ages. 
Yet  here  again  the  southern  and  northern 
races  exhibit  the  familiar  contrasts.  Finally 
the  Latin  races,  instead  of  continuing  *  the 
existing    elaboration,    have    been    the    great 


80  Racial  Contrasts 

simplifiers  of  art;  they  have  introduced 
changes  from  time  to  time  which  have  checked 
the  tendency  toward  complexity.  After  the 
Gothic  period,  Italy  reverted  to  the  plainer 
Renaissance  style  of  architecture.  French 
classicism  was  a  return  to  ancient  severity 
of  composition.  And  the  introduction  in 
Italy  of  the  modern  harmonic  method  of 
musical  composition  was  a  reaction  against 
the  contrapuntal  complexities  which  had  been 
developed  in  the  north.  All  in  all,  historical 
elaboration  can  not  account  for  the  features 
under  consideration. 


VII 

INTELLECTUAL   AND    EMOTIONAL 
CHARACTERISTICS 

NATURE  forms  an  apt  transition  from 
the  arts  to  intellectual  and  emotional 
characteristics.  What  is  a  landscape 
but  a  huge  natural  painting,  a  forest  but  a 
primeval  cathedral;  what  is  the  medley  of 
delicious  sounds  from  bird  and  cricket  and 
brook  and  tree  but  a  magnificent  symphony, 
chanting  the  freshness  and  beauty  of  the 
world?  The  Teutons  have  ever  been  great 
lovers  of  nature,  the  Graeco-Latins  are  rather 
indifferent  toward  her  charms.  Evidences 
abound  in  the  arts.  In  classic  literature 
there  is  but  little  reference  to  natural  phe- 
nomena, no  nature-poetry  like  that  of  the 
Teutons.  Landscape-painting  is  a  northern 
product.  The  imitation  of  natural  objects 
in  southern  buildings  is  conventionalised, 
that   in   the  north   adheres  more  closely  to 

6  Si 


82  Racial  Contrasts 

the  original  forms.  Germanic  works,  indeed, 
seem  instinctively  to  gravitate  toward  nature, 
Grasco-Latin  ones  to  retreat  from  it.  The 
Teuton  makes  natural  objects  of  his  works 
of  art,  the  other  makes  works  of  art  of  his 
natural  objects.  The  dramas  of  Shakespeare, 
with  their  disregard  of  the  unities,  their 
interweaving  of  plots  and  scenes,  multipli- 
cation of  characters,  commixture  of  comedy 
and  tragedy,  prose  and  poetry,  rhyme  and 
blank  verse, — correspond  both  to  the  complex- 
ity of  real  life  and  the  beautiful  confusion  of 
the  outer  world.  The  gardens  of  Versailles, 
on  the  other  hand,  may  be  likened  to  a  Greek 
temple, — regular,  orderly,  and  symmetrical. 
The  unities  are  preserved,  the  classic  spirit 
prevails,  there  is  no  incongruity  or  suggestive- 
ness,  no  wild,  and  rude,  aboriginal  force. 
It  was  among  the  Romans,  indeed,  that  the 
artificial  method  of  landscape-gardening  was 
invented,  a  style  which  was  revived  in  Italy 
during  the  Renaissance  and  later  transmitted 
to  France.  The  opposite  and  more  natural, 
or  English  style,  is  so  named  because  of  its 
cultivation  on  the  British  Isles. 

What  better  illustration  of  our  principles 
could    we    find?     Where    do    more    objects 


Characteristics  8 


o 


invite  the  attention  than  in  the  contemplation 
of  nature?  Where  is  there  more  reference 
away  from  the  things  of  perception  to  that 
which  is  not  presented  ?  Where  is  there  more 
opportunity  for  the  exercise  of  a  large  mental 
fringe, — for  suggestion,  imagination,  divina- 
tion? Place  yourself  in  a  beautiful  country- 
scene  and  examine  your  state  of  mind:  a 
hundred  objects  assail  you — sky,  brook,  flow- 
ers, trees,  and  mountains;  the  rustling  leaves, 
the  song  of  birds,  the  whispering  and  sighing 
of  the  wind.  Furthermore,  every  object  has 
its  story  to  tell,  every  one  refers  beyond  itself. 
The  golden  clouds  on  the  horizon  suggest  happy 
islands,  bathed  in  celestial  light.  The  exuber- 
ant strains  of  the  lark  excite  curiosity  as  to 
the  whereabouts  and  habits  of  the  merry 
warbler.  The  little  hut  among  the  hills 
evokes  an  image  of  the  idyllic  existence  of  its 
happy  inmates.  The  mind  overflows  with  end- 
less suggestions  and  by-thoughts,  clustering 
about  the  objects  directly  perceived.  Nature, 
indeed,  is  the  true  Germanic  painting,  cathe- 
dral, and  symphony.  No  picture  can  reveal  a 
more  delicate  execution  of  details,  no  edifice 
unfold  a  more  astounding  complexity,  "  no 
symphony  boast  of  a  richer  interweaving  of 


84  Racial  Contrasts 

themes  or  fuller  harmonic  background.  Is  it 
surprising,  then,  that  the  Teutons  should  be 
passionate  lovers  of  nature,  while  the  Grseco- 
Latins,  though  embosomed  in  delightful  sur- 
roundings, should  seem  to  avoid  her,  shutting 
themselves  up  in  cities,  and  congregating  in 
the  gymnasium,  market-place,  and  salon? 

There  is  a  deliberation  and  hesitation 
about  the  actions  of  Germanic  people  which 
contrasts  sharply  with  the  vivaciousness  of 
their  southern  cousins.  The  peasant  from 
the  north  may  stare  at  you  vacantly  before 
he  answers  your  question.  Thought  trans- 
lates itself  into  motor  results  but  slowly; 
often,  indeed,  there  are  no  results  at  all.  Ham- 
let, with  his  indecision  and  vacillation,  is  a 
type  of  this  species  of  mind.  The  fiery  Tybalt 
from  Romeo  and  Juliet,  on  the  other  hand, 
represents  a  class  that  is  common  among 
Latin  races — lively,  quick-tempered,  ebullient 
individuals.  They  act  on  the  impulse  of 
the  moment;  they  are  easily  swayed;  they 
will  burn  with  enthusiasm  for  the  hero  of 
the  hour;  the  next  day,  when  the  tide  of 
success  has  turned,  they  will  lead  him  to  the 
scaffold. 

The  explanation  of  these  characteristics  is 


Characteristics  85 

simple  on  the  basis  of  our  principles.  Psycho- 
logy teaches  that  the  realisation  of  a  thought 
in  action  depends  upon  its  preponderance 
in  consciousness.  Every  impulse  naturally 
tends  to  translate  itself  into  motor  results. 
The  nervous  organisation  is  an  electrical  cir- 
cuit, of  which  the  afferent  and  efferent  nerves 
are  the  wires.  Reflex,  instinctive  action  fol- 
lows immediately  upon  stimulation;  the  same 
is  true  where  mental  supervision  is  involved, 
but  where  there  is  no  opposition  to  the 
results.  We  consciously  regulate  the  move- 
ments of  eating,  but  they  proceed  without 
break  because  the  question  as  to  their 
propriety  never  arises.  A  break  only  occurs 
when  two  or  more  thoughts  tend  in  op- 
posite directions,  when  one  pushes  toward 
the  accomplishment  of  an  act  and  another 
warns  us  to  desist.  Then  there  is  a  deadlock, 
which  is  only  resolved  when  one  of  the  con- 
testants gains  the  victory.  This  condition, 
however,  is  common.  Education  has  stored 
our  minds  with  such  a  host  of  opposing 
tendencies  that  the  state  of  abeyance  has 
become  firmly  established.  We  may  be 
tempted  to  slap  our  enemy  in  the  face,  but 
the  rules  of  good    breeding   hover   over   the 


86  Racial  Contrasts 

impulse  and  dampen  its  blaze  of  energy;  we 
may  desire  to  run  away  from  our  duties  and 
spend  the  day  in  idleness,  but  thoughts  of  the 
consequences  intervene,  and  habit  reasserts 
its  sway.  Let  the  idea  of  our  injury  gain 
control,  however,  and  the  hand  will  fly;  let 
the  visions  of  pleasure  crowd  out  the  re- 
monstrances, and  the  tasks  of  the  day  will 
be  abandoned.  Now  this  will  happen  more 
easily  in  the  case  of  people  with  a  lightly 
fringed  mind.  Where  the  mind  is  habitually 
filled  with  a  multitude  of  thoughts,  opposing 
ideas  will  assert  themselves  and  the  deadlock 
will  prevail;  whatever  impulse  may  arise, 
it  must  first  undergo  a  trial  of  strength  with 
its  adversaries ;  it  must  'Submit  to  a  hearing 
before  the  tribunal  of  consciousness,  and 
action  will  only  be  the  result  of  deliberation. 
In  the  classic  mind,  however,  the  mind  with 
few  objects,  an  idea  will  easily  gain  control; 
the  halo  of  inhibitory  influences  will  form 
but  imperfectly,  and  before  we  know  it  the 
trigger  of  the  nerves  has  been  pulled.  The 
results  work  in  two  directions,  of  course: 
for  the  good  as  well  as  the  bad.  Northern 
people  are  less  liable  to  be  carried  to  deeds 
'  of    violence    than    their    southern    kinsmen, 


Characteristics  87 

but  for  the  same  reason  they  will  often  desist 
from  acts  of  courtesy.     There  is  an  amount 
of  friction  and  clogging  which  is  not  found  l 
across  the  Alps,  and  which  often  detracts  from 
the  enjoyability  of  life. 

Between  the  outflow  of  thoughts  into 
action  and  into  words  the  analogy  is  close. 
In  one  case  the  efferent  currents  result  in 
movements  of  the  body,  in  the  other  they 
issue  in  movements  of  the  lips  and  tongue. 
Action  is  speech  of  the  body,  speech  is  action  - 
of  the  vocal  organs.  Accordingly  we  may 
expect  to  find  a  similar  relation  between  the 
races  with  reference  to  conversation.  The 
Teutons  are  meagre  talkers,  the  Grseco-Latms 
converse  fluently.  Vischer  gives  an  exquisite 
description  of  the  Teutonic  silent  man: 

Uhland  belonged  to  a  class  of  human  beings  which 
is  probably  met  with  among  no  people  so  frequently 
as  among  the  Germans,  and,  if  I  have  observed 
correctly,  among  no  branch  so  frequently  as  among 
the  Suabians:  deep,  precious,  richly  -  constituted 
natures,  whose  lios  are  closed  as  by  a  demon;  the 
thought  is  about  to  issue  forth,  but  the  sluice  is  closed, 
— it  cannot;  they  are  in  company,  one  waits  and 
waits  to  hear  them  contribute  their  mite  to  the  enter- 
tainment, they  would  like  to  do  it  too,  they  think 
of  a  thousand   things  with  which  they  might  very 


88  Racial  Contrasts 

appropriately  begin,  but  which  one  shall  they  choose 
among  the  thousand?  Desperation!  One  might 
properly  begin  with  any  one!  Or  they  have  finally 
chosen;  but  how  make  a  start?  One  could  begin 
so,  or  differently,  and  differently  again — what  is  to 
be  done?  how  surmount  this  terrible  mass  of  super- 
posed possibilities?  At  last  they  take  courage! — 
the  lips  open,  they  move,  a  sound — but  the  powder 
flashes  in  the  pan,  the  gun  does  not  go  off.1 

This  description  contains  the  key  to  the 
explanation.  Germanic  taciturnity  is  due  to 
wealth  and  complexity  of  thought.  The 
ideas  of  the  Graeco- Latin,  simple  and  un- 
encumbered by  a  multitude  of  side-thoughts, 
easily  flow  over  into  words,  and  suggest  the 
sequence  of  expression  with  the  same  ease 
and  precision  with  which  the  experiences 
which  are  being  related  followed  one  another. 
The  thoughts  of  the  Teuton,  on  the  contrary, 
are  obliged  to  disentangle  themselves  from 
a  crowd  of  connected  ideas.  Before  they 
can  assert  themselves,  opposing  thoughts  will 
arise,  jostling  them  so  as  to  make  emergence 
impossible  without  a  preliminary  struggle. 

Accompanying  the  slowness  of  the  Teu- 
tons, we  meet  with  a  certain  tenacity 
and    persistency   of   effort.      The  people    of 

1  Kritische  Gange,  Stuttgart,  1863,  vol.  iv.,  p.  104. 


Characteristics  89 

this  race  are  patient,  plodding,  persevering. 
Hence  the  great  material  results  they  have 
achieved.  The  more  effervescent  Frenchman 
grows  enthusiastic  over  an  enterprise,  but 
the  ardour  of  his  feelings  cools  as  readily  as 
it  flames  forth,  and  the  purpose  of  his  en- 
thusiasm may  be  forgotten.  These  qualities 
are  related  to  the  ones  we  have  just  been 
considering,  and  rest  on  the  same  mental 
foundation.  Persistency  of  effort  requires 
consciousness  of  the  end  to  be  attained,  but 
this  consciousness  will  merely  exist  as  a  com- 
ponent of  the  psychic  fringe;  and  where  the 
fringe  is  ample  it  is  more  likely  to  be 
present.  It  may  be  compared  to  the  pedal 
point  in  music,  the  single  sustained  or  re- 
peated note  in  the  bass,  which  accompanies 
the  harmonic  changes  above.  As  the  con- 
trapuntal intricacies  of  German  music  may 
be  said  to  mirror  the  complexity  of  the  Teu- 
tonic mind,  so  the  pedal  point  matches  that 
undertone  of  constancy,  that  abiding  sense 
of  the  purpose  of  conduct,  which  underlies 
Germanic  persistency. 

The  qualities  under  consideration  find  ex- 
pression in  many  ways.  De  Quincey  observes 
that  Socratic  chains  of  reasoning  consist  of 


90  Racial  Contrasts 

a  lot  of  individual  little  arguments,  any  one 
of  which  can  be  separately  sanctioned  or  re- 
jected; modern  arguments,  on  the  contrary, 
are  composed  of  organically  connected  parts, 
incapable  of  isolation  and  requiring  a  suspen- 
sion of  judgment  until  the  end.1  Madame  de 
Stael  says: 

Nothing  deranges  the  imperturbable  seriousness  of 
the  Germans:  it  is  always  by  its  general  effect  that 
they  judge  of  a  theatrical  piece,  and  they  wait  till  it 
is  finished  before  they  either  condemn  or  applaud  it. 
The  impressions  of  the  French  are  more  ready;  and 
they  would  in  vain  be  forewarned  that  a  comic  scene 
is  designed  to  set  off  a  tragic  situation, — they  would 
turn  the  first  into  ridicule  without  waiting  for  the 
other ;  every  detail  must  for  them  be  of  equal  interest 
with  the  whole:  they  will  not  allow  credit  for  an  instant 
to  the  pleasure  which  they  demand  from  the  fine  arts.  2 

The  structure  of  Italian  opera  and  Wagner- 
ian music-drama  exhibits  the  same  diver- 
gences: in  Italian  opera  we  have  a  series  of 
separate  numbers,  strung  together  like  the 
pearls  of  a  necklace;  the  art-work  of  the  future 
is  a  connected  tissue,  in  which  the  music 
never  ceases  until  the  drop  of  the  curtain. 
Even  the  great  dramas  reveal  the  difference. 

1  Essay  on  Style,  part  ii. 

2  Germany,  Boston,  vol.  i.,  p.  255. 


Characteristics  91 

Those  of  ancient  Greece  contained  hardly  any 
intrigue  worthy  of  the  name;  the  subject  of 
the  action,  drawn  from  the  history  and  myth- 
ology of  the  race,  was  familiar,  and  a  spectator 
might  enter  at  any  time  without  foregoing  the 
thread  of  continuity.  Finally,  the  same 
traits  will  again  be  revealed  in  the  next 
chapter,  when  we  consider  language.  In 
all  these  cases  the  mental  foundation  is  the 
same  as  that  underlying  the  steadfastness 
of  the  Teutons  and  volatility  of  the  Graeco- 
Latins. 

The  Germanic  races  manifest  a  tendency 
toward  brooding  and  melancholy.  The  Eng- 
lish are  known  as  hypochondriacs;  no  nation 
bemoans  so  many  suicides  as  the  Germans. 
Brooding  is  persistency  exaggerated;  it  is  the 
pedal  point  diseased  and  hypertrophied.  The 
sustained  note  in  the  bass,  instead  of  merely 
supplementing  the  harmony,  steps  into  the 
foreground  and  monopolises  the  attention; 
and  the  symphony  of  thought  is  transformed 
into  a  melancholy  drone,  ever  repeated  with- 
out variation.  The  transition  from  the  third 
to  the  last  movement  of  Beethoven's  fifth 
symphony  may  serve  as  a  picture  of  Germanic 
persistency  and  faith,  the  single  repeated  note 


92  Racial  Contrasts 

in  the  drums  abiding  through  all  the  fantastic 
evolutions  of  harmony  like  a  voice  of  assur- 
ance, and  leading  into  the  glorious  finale  of 
success.  The  middle  section  of  Chopin's 
prelude  in  D  flat  major,  on  the  contrary, 
answers  to  brooding.  A  single  thought,  like 
the  inextinguishable  memory  of  a  guilty  deed, 
pounds  away  on  the  G  sharp  with  uncanny 
regularity,  filling  the  mind  with  terror.1 

We  have  already  remarked  that  the  Grasco- 
Latins  are  inclined  to  be  worldly,  while  the 
Teutons  exhibit  a  religious  bias.  The  Greeks 
were  children  of  the  moment.  They  believed 
in  an  after-life,  to  be  sure,  but  the  belief  made 
little  impression  on  their  conduct.  The  occur- 
rences of  the  day,  their  mundane  fortunes,  ex- 
hausted their  thoughts  and  left  but  little  room 
for  hopes  or  fears  regarding  an  unseen  exist- 
ence. The  Latin  races  resemble  the  Greeks 
when  contrasted  with  the  nations  from  the 
north.  It  was  among  the  latter  that  the  great 
religious  struggles  of  the  Reformation  origi- 
nated. Wycliffe,  Luther,  and  Zwingli  were 
Teutons.  Mysticism  also  finds  its  home  in  the 
north,  the  Latins  inclining  toward  rationalism. 

1  No  reference  to  the  composer's  nationality  is  here  in- 
tended; the  illustrations  are  given  merely  for  their  own  sake. 


Characteristics  93 

A  pronounced  ethical  and  religious  tone  char- 
acterises Germanic  literature :  Milton,  Schiller, 
and  Wordsworth  bear  witness,  and  in  Puritan 
New  England  it  forms  the  keynote,  stamping 
the  writings  of  Emerson,  Whittier,  Lowell, 
Hawthorne,  and  most  of  their  numerous 
followers. 

Religion  deals  with  the  things  which  lie 
beyond  the  world,  with  the  infinite  and 
ineffable,  of  which  material  objects  are  merely 
the  symbols.  Naturally,  then,  the  Teutons, 
who  always  refer  away  from  the  objects 
directly  presented,  will  be  religious,  while 
the  others  will  direct  their  attention  to  mun- 
dane occurrences.  Romantic  productions, 
we  have  seen,  are  full  of  vague  suggestions; 
they  refer  to  the  beyond,  they  hint  at  things 
of  which  we  have  no  definite  image.  Now 
God  and  the  unseen  realms  of  existence  are 
the  objective  correlate  of  this  divining  attitude 
of  mind,  when  it  deals  with  the  world  and  the 
dilemmas  of  conduct.  They  represent  the 
background  of  experience,  the  terminus  of 
the  vague  intimations  we  receive  from 
nature,  with  her  mysterious  significance, 
the  answer  to  all  our  doubts,  the  solution 
of  all  our  problems.      Religion,  in  a  certain 


94  Racial  Contrasts 

sense,  is  the  romanticism  of  life;  here,  too, 
there  is  symbolisation,  strangeness,  hidden- 
ness,  and  a  reaching  -  out  after  the  in- 
finite. Protestantism,  especially,  of  which 
most  Germanic  nations  are  adherents,  de- 
pends on  this  mystic  conception  of  the  Divine ; 
Catholicism  appeals  more  directly,  through  its 
images,  ceremonies,  and  relics:  hence,  per- 
haps, a  reason  for  the  adherence  to  the 
Church  of  Rome  of  the  Latin  races,  who  love 
to  deal  with  that  which  is  directly  offered, 
and  who  are  loath  to  penetrate  beyond,  to 
the  invisible. 


/ 


M' 


VIII 

CUSTOMS  AND  INSTITUTIONS 

ENTAL  and  emotional  characteristics 
will  vent  themselves  in  customs  and 
institutions.  A  trivial  illustration  is 
the  following:  Actors  in  the  French  drama 
who  are  about  to  receive  disastrous  news 
will  often  cover  the  mouth  of  the  speaker 
with  their  hands,  so  as  to  prevent  the  utter- 
ance of  the  unwelcome  words.  Undoubtedly 
this  custom  prevails  among  the  French  people 
as  well,  thus  forming  an  illustration  of  the 
second  principle;  the  words,  the  direct,  ob- 
jective expression  of  the  unwelcome,  absorb 
the  attention  of  the  Frenchman,  whereas  the 
Teuton,  penetrating  beyond  the  appearance, 
seizes  the  substance  and  realises  the  futility 
of  covering  up  its  expression. 

The  principles  we  have  invoked  may  explain 
some  of  the  simplicity  of  ancient  life  and  the 
complexity  enmeshing  the  moderns.     To  be 

95 


96  Racial  Contrasts 

sure,  it  may  not  be  the  only  explanation. 
As  we  have  seen,  simplicity  naturally  precedes 
elaboration.  It  would  be  contrary  to  the 
laws  of  social  evolution  for  civilisation  to  begin 
with  complex  conditions  and  to  gravitate 
toward  elementary  ones.  Nevertheless,  it  is 
not  unlikely  that  inborn  or  traditional  tenden- 
cies had  something  to  do  with  the  results. 
Germanic  taciturnity  and  love  of  nature  may 
account  in  part  for  the  isolated  dwellings  in 
the  north,  for  the  country-life  of  the  English 
nobility,  and  the  lonely  habits  of  German 
scholars;  the  opposite  tendencies  among  the 
Graeco-Latins  would  serve  to  explain  their 
abhorrence  of  solitude,  their  early  building 
of  cities,  the  social  habits  of  their  philosophers, 
and,  as  mentioned,  their  congregation  in 
gymnasiums  and  salons.  The  celerity  of 
action  in  the  south  throws  light  on  the  fre- 
quency of  assassination  in  Latin  countries ; 
it  enables  us  to  understand  the  enthusiastic 
support  received  by  victorious  generals  and 
the  speedy  disgrace  awaiting  defeated  ones; 
it  explains  many  episodes  in  the  revolution 
of  1789,  and  furnishes  the  reason  for  the 
general  instability  of  governments  among  the 
Romance  races.     Likewise  it  is  the  cause  of 


Customs  and  Institutions  97 

many  enactments  which  are  not  necessary 
among  calmer  peoples.  In  the  French  con- 
stitution, for  example,  there  are  special 
provisions  designed  to  make  sudden  changes 
in  the  government  impossible;  and  the  in- 
flammability of  the  Gallic  nature  necessitates 
the  rule  that  when  the  president  of  the  Cham- 
•  ber  of  Deputies  puts  on  his  hat  all  argument 
must  cease. 

The  inertia  of  the  Teutons  is  accountable  for 
the  calm  deliberation  prevailing  in  Germanic 
legislative  bodies ;  and  it  had  much  to  do  with 
the  disruption  of  the  old  German  Empire  and 
its  long  inability  to  revive,  as  expressed  in 
Freiligrath's  Hamlet,  where  the  German  people, 
with  their  fluctuations  and  hesitations,  are 
compared  to  the  Danish  prince.  The  per- 
sistency of  the  Teutons  is  shown  in  the  patience 
and  diligence  of  the  German  labourer,  the 
tedious  researches  of  the  university  professor, 
the  dogged  resistance  of  the  English  soldier, 
and  the  indomitable  energy  of  the  Yankee 
speculator.  It  may  account  for  their  marvel- 
lous success  in  colonisation  and  their  mastery 
over  the  material  world;  for  the  commercial 
prosperity  of  the  Dutch  during  the  17th  cen- 
tury,   the    English    supremacy    of    the    last 


98  Racial  Contrasts 

hundred  years,  and  the  German  and  American 
emergence  of  to-day.  The  situations  are  com- 
plex, to  be  sure,  and  it  is  easy  to  be  led  astray 
in  one's  reasoning.  No  nation  was  so  powerful 
as  the  Romans  in  their  day,  and  the  Spaniards, 
too,  were  great  colonisers.  It  must  be  remem- 
bered, however,  that  the  Romans  had  no 
Germanic  rivals. 

The  historical  and  political  consequences 
flowing  from  the  religiousness  of  the  Teutonic 
mind  are  so  familiar  that  they  can  pass  with- 
out comment.  Suffice  it  to  mention  the 
Protestant  Reformation,  and  the  deep  re- 
ligious movements  which  have  since  then 
agitated  Gennanic  countries, — Pietism  in  Ger- 
many, Puritanism  and  Methodism  in  England. 
Scandinavian  mythology  is  more  romantic 
than  Greek, — it  partakes  more  of  the  hidden, 
the  vast,  the  infinite.  But  even  the  romantic 
elements  harboured  by  the  ancient  beliefs 
cannot  be  attributed  entirely  to  the  classic 
spirit ;  for  the  Greek  inherited  his  mythology 
from  the  Aryan  forefathers,  whence  many 
of  its  features  are  to  be  explained  as  a 
legacy  of  preceding  generations.  If  we  would 
look  for  imprints  of  the  Grecian  spirit,  we 
must  examine  the  changes  which  it  wrought 


Customs  and  Institutions  99 

in  the  bequest  thus  received.  Here,  indeed,. 
we  find  the  expected  results.  The  Greek 
simplified  and  clarified  the  traditions  and 
dropped  symbolical  meanings.  The  gods 
were  reduced  from  their  high  position  of 
invisible,  mysterious  agents  to  the  level  of 
mankind,  more  powerful  than  ordinary  mor- 
tals, to  be  sure,  and  endowed  with  eternal  life, 
but  otherwise  not  differing  greatly  from 
them. 

One  of  the  latest  manifestations  of  the 
"classic  spirit"  was  revealed  in  the  literature, 
science,  philosophy,  and  general  attitude 
toward  life  prevailing  in  France  during  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries,  and 
in  the  social,  political,  and  religious  effects 
arising  therefrom  and  culminating  in  the 
Revolution.  Everything  during  that  period 
was  regulated  and  simplified.  Language  was 
pruned,  vigorous  and  dialectic  words  being 
extirpated  and  general  terms  only  retained. 
The  deepest  subjects  were  handled  in  a  grace- 
ful, flowing  style,  comprehension  being  ren- 
dered easy  and  not  involving  serious  study. 
Man  was  conceived  as  a  simple  automaton 
endowed  with  sensation,  whose  only  end  was 
the  attainment  of  pleasure.  All  mankind  being 


ioo  Racial  Contrasts 

regarded  as  equal,  and  human  nature  being 
so  perfectly  intelligible,  the  construction,  in 
theory,  of  the  true  religion  and  political  state 
became  matters  of  little  difficulty.  Hence 
the  neglect  of  traditional  views,  the  "social- 
contract  "  theories  of  the  politicians,  the  cries 
of  "  Liberty,  Equality,  Fraternity!"  and,  to  a 
great  degree,  the  application  of  it  all  in  the 
Revolution.1  The  division  of  France  into  its 
eighty-seven  departments,  and  the  metric 
system  of  weights  and  measures,  are  among 
the  lasting  results  of  those  systematic  altera- 
tions that  were  wrought  under  the  influence 
of  the  classic  spirit. 

We  arrive  at  the  important  subject  of 
language.  Philological  development  depends 
in  great  measure  on  external  influences: 
thus  the  English  tongue  was  modified 
as  a  result  of  the  Norman  invasion,  the 
native  idiom  of  the  Irish  supplanted  entirely 
by  a  Teutonic  dialect.  Nevertheless,  national 
peculiarities  will  evince  themselves.  As  a 
verification  of  the  second  principle  we  may 
regard  the  euphony  characteristic  of  south- 

1  This  whole  subject  receives  an  admirable  exposition  in 
the  first  volume  of  Taine's  Les  Origines  de  la  France  con- 
temporaine. 


Customs  and  Institutions         101 

ern  languages.  Greek  and  Latin,  Italian 
Spanish,  Portuguese,  and  French, — all  are 
pleasing  in  their  effect  on  the  ear.  Indeed, 
there  are  special  devices,  like  the  liaison  ^ 
in  French  and  the  elision  in  classic  tongues, 
through  which  harshness  of  sound  is 
avoided.  English  and  German  have  no 
such  devices.  As  in  poetry  and  painting, 
the  Teuton  does  not  busy  himself  much  with 
direct  impressions,  but  penetrates  beyond,  to 
the  meaning.  The  quantitative  versification 
of  ancient  poetry  and  the  alliteration  and 
rhyme  of  modern  writings  may  be  adduced 
as  further  examples.  The  former  gives  us 
immediate  beauty,  comparable  to  rhythm 
in  music,  the  latter  depends  on  relations, 
as  explained  on  a  previous  page. 

In  general,  it  appears  as  if  thought  were 
more  directly  embodied  in  ancient  languages. 
Witness  the  ablative  and  dative  cases,  in 
Latin  and  Greek  respectively,  the  ablative 
and  genitive  absolute  constructions,  and  the 
lack  of  auxiliary  verbs.  "Occisus  gladio" 
is  in  English  rendered  by  "  slain  by  the  sword" ; 
"amavero"  requires  the  four  German  words, 
"ich  werde  geliebt  haben."  Latin  and  Greek 
give   us    an    exact    correspondence    between 


102  Racial  Contrasts 

the  sign  and  the  thing  signified;  English  and 
German  weave  a  network  of  relations  about 
the  thought.  When  I  read  "  I  shall,"  I  antici- 
pate the  words  that  are  to  follow;  when  I 
read  "have  loved,"  I  refer  back  to  those 
which  have  preceded.  There  is  a  varying 
expectation  and  recollection,  a  reference  to 
and  fro,  a  carrying  of  accessories  in  the  shape 
of  words  which,  taken  alone,  do  not  signify 
much,  but  which  gain  their  meaning  through 
their  combination.  These  may  aptly  be 
styled  the  luggage  of  the  thought  which  is 
being  presented;  and  that  it  is  a  sensible 
luggage  is  forcibly  impressed  upon  us  when, 
in  German,  we  wish  to  give  expression  to  some 
trivial  idea  requiring  several  cumbersome 
future-perfect  or  passive- voice  combinations: 
we  are  likely  to  lose  heart  long  before  the 
sentence  is  completed;  we  begin  to  think 
that  the  idea  had  better  remain  unexpressed 
than  to  gain  utterance  by  pressing  into  its 
service  all  this  bulky  apparatus. 

In  the  highly  inflected  ancient  languages  it 
was  possible  to  begin  and  develop  sentences  in 
a  greater  variety  of  ways  than  in  the  modern. 
Almost  any  word  could  be  chosen  for  the 
opening;  with  us,  on  the  contrary,  the  sub- 


Customs  and  Institutions         103 

ject  usually  comes  first;  this  is  followed  by 
the  predicate,  and  this  again  by  the  various 
objects.  The  freedom  of  the  ancients  allowed 
of  a  closer  adherence  to  the  thoughts  than  is 
possible  to-day.  With  them  a  sentence  more 
commonly  began  with  the  words  most  directly 
related  to  the  end  of  the  preceding  sentence; 
with  us  the  beginning  often  has  no  apparent 
connection  with  what  has  gone  before,  the 
connecting  thought  not  being  expressed  until 
the  middle  or  end  of  the  second  proposition. 
"Greek  and  Latin  sentences  form  a  chain  of 
which  the  parts  interlink.  French  sentences 
may  be  compared  to  a  necklace  of  pearls; 
they  are  joined  only  by  the  thread  of  the 
thought."1  In  the  ancient  languages  the 
"syntactic  march"  agrees  with  the  "march 
of  ideas,"  in  the  modern  it  deviates  therefrom ; 
in  the  former  the  sense  is  revealed  to  us  grad- 
ually, in  the  latter  we  obtain  it  by  pulses  and 
leaps;  there  we  look  at  the  words  themselves 
for  their  meaning,  here  we  look  behind  them ; 
there  they  are  pictures  of  the  thoughts,  here 
they  are  "thought-luggage." 

The  analogy  with  the  racial  methods  of 
reasoning  is  apparent.     As  ancient  sentences 

1  Weil,  Order  of  Words,  Boston,  1887,  p.  39. 


104  Racial  Contrasts 

progress  step  by  step,  until  the  completion  of 
the  thought,  so  ancient  (Socratic)  argumenta- 
tion proceeds  smoothly  and  logically,  the  con- 
clusion of  one  proposition  serving  for  the 
premise  of  the  next.  And  as  Germanic  sen- 
tences move  irregularly,  the  thoughts  of  one 
statement  attaching  themselves  to  the  entire 
meaning  and  not  merely  to  the  words  of  the  fol- 
lowing, so  Teutonic  reasoning  progresses  by 
sudden  intuitions,  by  the  accumulation  of 
many  details,  and  the  rushing  together  of  ideas. 
The  easy  transitions  from  word  to  word  also 
find  their  parallel  in  the  tragedies  of  Sophocles, 
where  all  is  harmony  and  regularity ;  while  the 
jumping  from  idea  to  idea,  the  crossing  and 
recrossing,  are  matched  by  the  unexpected 
developments  of  the  Shakespearean  drama. 
In  agreement  with  the  southern  lack  of 
persistency,  the  "bit-by-bit"  enjoyment  of 
opera  and  drama,  and  thus  in  accordance  with 
our  principles,  is  the  Greek  practice  of  re- 
peating negatives  without  producing  a  positive 
meaning:  the  vivacious  spirit  forgets  the 
first  negative  and,  being  imbued  with  the 
general  feeling  of  negation,  pushes  in  a  second 
and  third.  The  employment,  in  Latin  and 
French,  of  expletive  negatives  in  dependent 


Customs  and  Institutions  105 

clauses  after  verbs  expressing  fear,  is  a  similar 
case  in  point.  Put  yourself  into  the  state 
of  mind  of  a  person  who  would  spontaneously 
talk  thus,  and  you  can  understand  the  move- 
ment of  the  hand,  referred  to  above,  that 
tries  to  cover  up  the  unwelcome  words  of  the 
speaker.  The  Teuton,  with  his  pedal  point 
mind,  holds  fast  to  the  words  first  spoken, 
and  avoids  giving  utterance  to  others  which 
would  logically  contradict  their  meaning. 

German  sentences,  with  their  extreme 
length,  employment  of  auxiliary  words,  sus- 
pension of  sense,  and  crowding  of  intermediate 
parts  with  modifying  adjectives,  participles, 
and  dependent  clauses,  illustrate  both  prin- 
ciples. The  "  thought-luggage ' '  implies  a  mul- 
tiplication of  factors ;  the  suspension  of  sense 
involves  a  reference  from  part  to  part.  The 
feelings  we  have  in  working  through  such  a 
sentence  are  similar  to  those  experienced  in 
conveying  a  number  of  heterogeneous  objects 
from  one  room  to  another.  The  objects 
are  too  numerous  to  be  carried  together  con- 
veniently, yet  too  few  to  warrant  several 
trips  for  their  transportation.  So  we  gather 
them  up,  placing  one  here,  one  there, — under 
the  elbow,  over  the  shoulder,  in  the  mouth, 


106  Racial  Contrasts 

on  each  of  the  fingers, — and  then,  clutching 
them  tightly,  we  start  for  our  destination. 
On  the  way  we  feel  them  slipping  from  us  and 
every  moment  we  expect  them  to  tumble  to  the 
ground ;  we  succeed  in  holding  them  together, 
however,  and  when  finally  we  reach  the  goal 
we  drop  them  in  a  heap  and  utter  a  sigh  of 
relief.  French  sentences  are  short,  clear,  and 
crisp.  English  ones  are  intermediate  in  na- 
ture ;  but  they  would  probably  be  characterised 
by  more  heaviness  if  it  had  not  been  for  French 
influence.  Contact  with  the  Normans  resulted 
in  changes  tending  toward  simplicity.  The 
German  custom  of  placing  the  verb  at  the 
end  of  the  sentence — the  so-called  transposed 
order, — which  is  accountable  for  the  long 
suspensions  of  sense  in  that  language,  was 
relinquished  and  replaced  by  the  syntactical 
characteristics  of  modern  English.1  In  ap- 
parent disagreement  with  the  view  set  forth 
is  the  prevalence  of  the  periodic  structure, 
with  its  suspension  of  sense,  in  Latin.  It 
is  possible,  however,  that  the  high  inflection  of 
the  ancient  language  permitted  of  the  periodic 
structure  without  entailing  so  much  burden 

1  Fiedler  and  Sachs,  WissenschajtlicheEnglischeGrammatik, 
p.  66. 


Customs  and  Institutions         107 

on  the  mind.     The  question  is  one  which  I 
would  not  attempt  to  decide. 

In  making  these  observations  on  language, 
I  have  merely  endeavoured  to  give  facts 
without  offering  explanations;  I  have  de- 
scribed conditions,  without  necessarily  ac- 
counting for  them.  Natural  tendencies  may 
be  involved,  or  extraneous,  historical  con- 
ditions may  suffice  for  an  explanation.  French 
liaison  may  be  a  conscious  device  for  the  at- 
tainment of  euphony,  or  it  may  have  had 
a  more  accidental  origin.  The  loss  of  in- 
flection in  modern  tongues  may  be  the  result 
of  a  normal  evolution,  or  the  outcome  of  a 
mental  push.  Modern  sentence-connection 
might  or  might  not  be  as  smooth  as  ancient, 
if  modern  languages  were  more  highly  in- 
flected. Our  ground  is  uncertain,  and  ex- 
tensive investigation  alone  can  yield  a 
decision. 

Further  light  might  be  shed  on  the  general 
subject  of  discussion  by  a  consideration  of 
popular  games.  Is  it  not  significant  that 
a  nation  like  the  Greeks,  who  devoted  so 
much  of  their  time  to  athletic  training,  should 
have  confined  themselves  to  such  simple  and  S 
uninspiring   exercises    as    running,    jumping, 


108  Racial  Contrasts 

and  throwing  the  discus?  Is  it  merely  due 
to  chance  that  the  modern  Teutons  should 
prefer  the  complicated  cricket,  baseball, 
and  football?  Then  there  are  the  legal  sys- 
tems. That  of  the  English,  depending  on 
innumerable  precedents,  is  in  agreement  with 
Germanic  tendencies  in  general;  but,  off- 
setting this  fact,  there  is  that  of  the  Germans, 
which  is  systematic  and  codified.  Of  course 
accidental  factors  may  be  involved,  modifying 
the  deeper  tendencies.  In  general  the  arts 
of  a  nation  form  a  truer  reflection  of  mental 
and  emotional  characteristics  than  the  insti- 
tutions: they  are  the  efflorescence  of  the 
people,  the  spontaneous  expression  of  its 
feelings  and  aspirations;  whereas  the  insti- 
tutions, necessary  factors,  will  often  be  the 
result  of  foreign  imposition. 

It  would  be  interesting,  but  beyond  the 
scope  of  this  inquiry,  to  extend  the  principles 
to  other  races.  Of  Celtic  genius  we  have  few 
pure  and  unmixed  artistic  evidences.  But  the 
vivacity  and  light-heartedness,  the  quickness 
of  action  and  conversational  ability,  of  the 
people  of  Celtic  derivation,  would  seem  to 
indicate  an  affinity  with  the  Grasco-Latins. 
Indian  civilisation,   on  the  other  hand,   ex- 


Customs  and  Institutions  iog 

hibits  numerous  points  of  agreement  with  the 
expressions  of  Teutonic  genius.  The  litera- 
ture of  India  is  replete  with  metaphors  and 
allegories,  and  includes  works  that  are  akin 
to  the  romantic.  Hindoo  architecture  is  com- 
plex. The  Hindoo  character  is  distinguished 
by  its  melancholy  tendency,  its  deep  religious- 
ness, and  its  love  of  nature;  the  Hindoo  mind 
by  the  depth  of  its  insights  and  the  intuitive 
rather  than  logical  progression  of  thoughts. 
It  is  probable,  too,  that  some  of  the  most 
complex  games  in  existence,  notably  the 
game  of  chess,  had  their  origin  in  India.  This 
agreement  is  rather  significant.  If  accident 
alone  were  the  ruling  factor,  we  should  not 
expect  so  uniform  a  parallelism;  the  poetry 
of  the  Hindoos  might  well  be  romantic  while 
their  temples  were  plain,  the  religious  sense 
be  keen  while  their  philosophy  was  rational- 
istic. Considering  the  differences  in  climate, 
environment,  and  antiquity  of  civilisation,  the 
correspondence  is  remarkable,  and  seems  to 
indicate  a  deeper,  mental  basis. 

Casting  a  glance,  now,  over  the  course  of 
our  inquiry,  do  we  not  find  a  systematic 
agreement,  a  solidarity  of  parts,  an  organic 
interweaving  of  elements,  which  we  may  well 


no  Racial  Contrasts 

consider  convincing?  The  love  of  nature  is 
evident  throughout  Germanic  art, — in  poetry, 
painting,  architecture,  and  music.  The  same 
arts  reveal  the  Grseco- Latin  indifference  to 
natural  phenomena,  evidences  which  are 
supplemented  by  the  southern  methods  of 
landscape-gardening,  which  seek  to  conven- 
tionalise the  charms  of  trees  and  flowers. 
Germanic  works  tend  toward  romantic  and 
mystic  effects:  witness  the  Gothic  cathedrals, 
the  paintings  of  Rembrandt  and  Turner, 
and  the  typical  productions  of  northern 
poetic  genius.  In  the  south  we  have  classic 
sculpture,  architecture,  and  tragedy.  The 
unity  of  action  in  French  dramas  corresponds 
to  the  single  subjects  of  Italian  painting,  the 
multiplicity  of  plots  in  Shakespeare  to  the  dis- 
persion of  Dutch  pictures.  The  traits  last 
mentioned,  together  with  figurative  speech  and 
allegorical  delineation,  involving  parallel  trains 
of  thought,  correspond  to  the  musical  counter- 
point of  northern  masters,  while  the  unitary 
developments  of  the  south  answer  to  the 
melodic  beauties  of  Italian  opera.  The  pe- 
culiarities of  art  are  matched  by  personal 
characteristics  and  analogies  of  custom  and 
institution.     The  fragmentary  enjoyment  of 


Customs  and  Institutions  in 

French  drama  and  Italian  opera  corresponds 
to  southern  vivacity  and  impulsiveness,  the 
withholding  of  applause  among  the  Germans 
to  northern  persistency  and  brooding.  Latin 
changeableness  agrees  with  the  multiplication 
of  negatives  in  southern  languages.  Classic 
smoothness  of  sentence-connection,  simplicity 
of  style,  and  clearness  of  reasoning  are  all 
interconnected,  as  well  as  northern  intuition, 
roughness  of  composition,  and  jumping  of 
thought.  The  various  applications  of  the 
principles  are  connected  by  an  intricate  net- 
work of  relations.  Analogous  cases  abound, 
knitting  the  parts  together  and  strengthening 
the  structure  of  the  whole.  The  multiplicity 
of  evidences  is  reinforced  by  their  concur- 
rence. Everything  points  in  one  direction, 
indicating  that  we  have  indeed  discovered 
fundamental  distinctions,  which  reduce  the 
activities  of  the  races  a  step  or  two  nearer  to 
their  lowest  mental  terms. 


THE  FLUCTUATIONS  OF  BEAUTY 
AND  MORALITY 


1 1  • 


THE  FLUCTUATIONS  OF  BEAUTY 
AND  MORALITY 

TO  the  youth  the  words  "  duty,"  "  truth," 
and  "  beauty  "  stand  for  qualities  fixed 
and  unchanging.  No  personal  caprice 
is  supposed  to  affect  them,  no  difference  of  age 
or  climate  may  disturb  their  serene  immuta- 
bility. What  is  the  duty  of  one  must  be 
binding  on  every  other,  what  is  beautiful  for 
me  ought  to  be  recognised  universally,  what 
is  true  to-day  must  have  been  true  since 
the  beginning  of  time  and  must  remain 
inviolable  throughout  eternity. 

As  we  gain  in  experience,  however,  we 
realise  the  fallacy  of  this  view.  The  thing 
which  is  admired  in  one  age  or  country  may 
be  ridiculed  in  another ;  fashions  which  receive 
approbation  this  year  will  be  cast  aside  in  a 
twelvemonth;  the  symphonies  which  lift  us 
toward  heaven  affect  the  Hindoo  as  mere 
jumbles  of  sound.  Nor  is  the  divergence  less 
in  the  field  of  morals.     Here,  too,  what  is 

*:5 


n6  Fluctuations  of 

deemed  right  at  one  time  and  place  is  con- 
demned at  another.  The  exposure  of  infants, 
permissible  among  the  old  Spartans,  by  us  is 
punishable  with  death.  The  uncovered  faces 
of  women,  proper  elsewhere,  are  in  Turkey 
considered  indecent.  Hardly  a  usage  or  act, 
indeed,  has  not  in  some  age  or  land  appeared 
virtuous  and  in  others  criminal:  murder, 
robbery,  lying,  adultery,  patriotism,  self- 
sacrifice,  honour, — all  have  received  the  most 
diverse  interpretations. 

In  our  uncertainty  we  turn  to  the  realm 
of  truth,  with  the  hope  that  here,  at  least, 
we  shall  reach  firm  bottom;  but  again  we  are 
doomed  to  disappointment.  As  we  turn  the 
pages  of  science  and  philosophy,  we  find  no 
two  thinkers  agreeing.  The  historical  path 
of  knowledge  is  strewn  with  battered  and 
worn-out  hypotheses,  which  were  fervently 
defended  in  their  day,  but  were  abandoned  in 
favour  of  others.  Can  we  expect  a  better  fate 
for  our  own  theories?  Are  we  to  suppose 
that  Ptolemy  and  Kepler  may  have  erred, 
but  that  we  little  moderns  are  secure  in  our 
grasp  on  truth?  Even  as  we  look  about  us 
we  see  doctrines  rising  and  evaporating  like 
the  mists  of   the  ocean.     Fierce  warfare  is 


Beauty  and  Morality  117 

everywhere  raging  between  the  adherents 
of  rival  schools,  grave  doubts  are  uttered 
on  all  accepted  truths.  The  firmest  beliefs 
are  assailed  by  the  missiles  of  scepticism 
and  totter  in  their  foundations;  what  was 
once  considered  white  is  now  declared  to  be 
black,  and  what  was  regarded  as  solid  is  said 
not  to  exist  at  all ! 

In  this  clatter  of  theories,  ethical  ideals, 
and  standards  of  beauty,  a  confusion  some- 
times overwhelms  us  like  an  intellectual 
swoon,  and  we  feel  like  rushing  out  of  doors 
and  beating  the  air  for  relief.  Is  it  true  that 
that  which  ought  to  be  the  most  stable  is 
really  the  most  unreliable?  Do  tables  and 
glasses  possess  reality,  while  we  look  in  vain 
for  a  duty,  truth,  or  object  of  aesthetic 
rapture  ?  Do  sweet  and  sour  remain  constant , 
while  virtue,  sublimity,  and  rationality  are 
mere  hollow  illusions? 

Let  us  pause  for  a  moment.  Is  it  quite 
true  that  sweet  and  sour  never  change? 
Drinking  a  glass  of  Rhine  wine  after  a  combi- 
nation of  unusual  dishes  one  day,  I  discovered 
a  sweetish  flavour  in  it;  yet  it  did  not  occur 
to  me  to  deny  the  existence  of  sour  wines. 
The  differences   in   the   eatables   of    various 


n8  Fluctuations  of 

nations  may  be  as  pronounced  as  the  varia- 
tions in  the  higher  realms,  one  nation  loathing 
what  another  relishes,  yet  we  never  conclude 
that  there  are  no  savory  articles  of  diet  in  the 
world.  Human  beings  might  be  so  divergent 
in  size  that  the  piece  of  furniture  which 
answered  for  a  table  in  one  place  would  be 
used  as  a  footstool  in  another  and  as  a  pavilion 
in  a  third,  while  a  glass  would  alternately 
serve  as  a  thimble  and  a  jar,  yet  no  one  would 
entertain  any  doubts  as  to  the  meaning 
and  reality  of  tables  and  glasses.  Need  we 
be  sceptical,  then,  regarding  the  existence 
of  that  sacred  trinity:  virtue,  truth,  and 
beauty  ? 

We  stop  to  reflect,  but  our  doubts  are  not 
relieved.  We  have  not  established  unity  of 
standard,  but  have  simply  proved  that  the 
fluctuations  are  equally  great  in  the  material 
realm.  We  have  not  banished  instability,  but 
have  merely  indicated  its  presence  elsewhere. 
The  fact  remains  that  there  is  flux  and  variety, 
while  we  cannot  help  demanding  permanence. 
Even  in  the  matter  of  food,  we  reason,  the 
divergence  may  be  merely  apparent :  where  an 
object  produces  both  a  sweet  and  a  sour  taste, 
there  must  be  a  variation  in  the  nerves  which 


Beauty  and  Morality  119 

are  involved;  excite  the  same  neural  activ- 
ities and  the  same  effects  must  ensue,  and 
a  definition  of  these  activities,  together  with 
the  objective  arousing  conditions,  will  exhibit 
the  constant  elements  in  taste.  Is  it  not 
possible  to  formulate  such  definitions  in  the 
ideal  realms?  Though  the  single  manifesta- 
tions of  beauty,  truth,  and  morality  exhibit 
such  baffling  variations,  may  they  not  be 
reducible  to  certain  types  or  formulae,  apply- 
ing in  all  the  divergent  cases?  Though  the 
savage  kills  his  aged  father  and  the  European 
nurses  his  own  parent  with  tenderness,  may 
there  not  be  a  point  of  view  from  which  their 
conduct  appears  essentially  alike? 

An  analogy  will  be  of  assistance.  Two 
violins  are  playing  middle  C,  while  a  kettle- 
drum accompanies  them  an  octave  lower. 
Which  of  these  three  tones  show  the  greatest 
resemblance  to  each  other?  Obviously  those 
of  the  violins:  not  only  are  they  of  the  same 
pitch,  while  the  other  is  deeper,  but  there 
is  an  agreement  in  timbre  which  differentiates 
them  sharply  from  the  dull  beat  of  the  drum. 
But  now,  begging  indulgence  for  the  lack 
of  musical  value  in  our  illustration,  let'  us 
regard  the  tones  in  their  context : 


120 


Fluctuations  of 


1st  Violin 
Pizz. 


5 


•a-    -•- 


-•-   -a- 


PP3 


2d  Violim 
Pizz. 


i 


1 


Kmtlk-Drum 


m=i^- 


^m 


It  is  clear  that  our  judgment  must  be  re- 
versed. Torn  out  of  their  connections  and  re- 
garded in  isolation,  the  two  upper  C's  of  course 
resemble  each  other;  but  viewed  in  their  sur- 
roundings, the  tones  of  the  second  violin  and 
kettle-drum  belong  together.  Music  abounds 
with  parallel  cases.  We  never  think  of  pro- 
nouncing two  tones  alike  because  they  happen 
to  have  the  same  pitch,  or  of  classing  together 
various  instruments  by  reason  of  their  simi- 
larity of  timbre;  the  melodic  relation  alone 
decides. 

In  life  the  situation  is  exactly  similar. 
Outer  objects  and  circumstances  are  the 
instruments,  the  conscious  effects  which  they 
produce  are  the  successive  melodic  tones,  and 


Beauty  and  Morality 


12  I 


the  present  impression  rests  on  the  series  of 
preceding  experiences.  A  fine  brownstone 
mansion  and  a  modest  suburban  cottage,  for 
example,  are  radically  different;  but  the 
sensations  they  arouse  in  the  minds  of  their 
respective  occupants  are  not  dependent  solely 
on  their  objective  aspect.  For  thirty  years 
the  proprietor  of  the  mansion  has  inhabited 
its  spacious  chambers;  he  has  spun  boyhood* 
dreams,  arrived  at  maturity,  entered  upon  the 
tasks  of  manhood,  and  experienced  the  joys 
and  sorrows  of  changing  fortune  beneath 
its  hovering  presence.  But  the  owner  of  the 
cottage  has  had  similar  experiences  under 
his  humble  roof.  The  vicissitudes  of  many 
years,  too,  are  interwoven  with  the  familiar 
aspect  of  the  vine  over  his  doorway  and  the 
easy  chair  in  the  corner  of  his  sitting-room. 
And  in  so  far  as  the  series  of  past  experiences 
are  similar,  the  effect  produced  will  also  be 
alike.  "  Sweet"  and  "  doux"  may  be  spelled 
differently,  but  their  meaning  is  the  same. 

A  slight  difference  of  operation  in  this 
case  must  be  explained.  In  listening  to  a 
melody  we  are  directly  aware  of  the  connection 
between  the  successive  tones;  in  life,  on  the 
contrary,  the  preceding  members  drop  out  of 


122  Fluctuations  of 

sight.  Our  experience  comes  in  lumps;  we 
perceive  the  stream  of  time  as  it  appears  wher- 
ever we  stem  our  mind  against  it,  but  the 
stream  itself,  the  series  of  successive  events,  is 
only  realised  by  the  imagination,  not  by  the 
senses.  This,  however,  is  not  fatal  to  the  paral- 
lelism. Though  we  may  not  remember  all 
the  Christmas  occurrences  of  a  lifetime  when 
we  perceive  a  lighted  tree,  though  we  may 
not  combine  them  into  a  significant  melodic 
totality,  they  linger  on  subconsciously,  impart- 
ing atmosphere  to  the  impressions  of  the  eye. 
They  are  projected  into  the  present  experi- 
ence, clustering  about  it  in  accordance  with 
the  laws  of  psychological  association.  Like 
the  overtones  in  music,  they  produce  subtle 
differences  of  quality. 

Much  light  is  thrown  by  these  considerations 
on  the  peculiarities  of  human  tastes.  They 
account  for  that  "blindness"  which  is  the 
subject  of  one  of  Professor  James's  delightful 
essays, — for  that  inability  to  share  in  each 
other's  joys  and  sorrows,  to  appreciate  one 
another's  ideals.  The  blindness  simply  de- 
pends upon  the  fact  that  the  object  which 
is  ennobled  by  a  rich  series  of  past  experiences 
in  one  case,  is  in  another  perceived  in  its  bald 


Beauty  and  Morality  123 

objectivity,  without  background.  The  dreary 
landscape  referred  to  by  the  author,  which 
awakens  melancholy  thoughts  in  the  mind 
of  the  stranger,  to  the  native  is  the  nucleus  of 
thousands  of  zestful  associations.  Hence  the 
truth  of  that  paradoxical  statement  of  Steven- 
son's, that  we  can  spend  a  lifetime  happily 
in  any  locality,  but  that  it  requires  exceptional 
surroundings  to  yield  a  few  hours  of  delight. 

It  is  amusing  to  hear  people  discuss  the 
pleasures  flowing  from  their  own  pursuits,  con- 
trasting them  with  the  dryness  of  other  occu- 
pations. Even  those  who  devote  themselves 
to  a  common  field  of  endeavour  will  often 
choose  one  little  bypath  of  effort,  and  become 
blind  to  the  enchantments  of  neighbouring 
walks.  The  metaphysician  may  find  logic 
extremely  tedious,  the  logician  deride  the 
barrenness  of  metaphysics.  In  truth,  the 
essential  charm  of  our  pursuits  does  not  reside 
in  the  material  with  which  they  deal,  but 
depends  upon  their  history,  so  far  as  they 
have  played  a  part  in  our  lives.  The  interest 
of  all  occupations  is  much  alike,  if  our  training 
and  proficiency  are  the  same.  It  affords  a 
similar  quality  of  pleasure  to  play  a  musical 
composition  without  mistakes,  do  a  difficult 


I 


124  Fluctuations  of 

feat  of  gymnastics,  present  a  character  on  the 
stage,  or  deliver  an  effective  sermon.  In  all 
cases  there  has  been  an  analogous  approach 
to  present  conditions:  there  were  the  same 
endeavours,  endlessly  renewed,  the  identical 
obstacles  met  and  overcome,  the  repeated 
encouragements,  the  moments  of  despair,  and 
the  final  mastery.  And  mastery  feels  alike, 
whether  it  is  evinced  in  a  surgical  operation 
or  the  matching  of  rhymes. 

The  same  reasoning  applies  to  the  "fads" 
and  fancies  with  which  people  fill  their  spare 
moments.  The  collector  of  coins  is  not  inter- 
ested by  a  rare  stamp,  nor  is  he  who  gathers 
stamps  thrilled  by  the  sight  of  a  Roman  coin; 
but  exchange  the  objects  and  the  eyes  will 
glow.  Despite  the  mutual  indifference  to  the 
things  which  excite  interest,  it  is  clear  that 
the  pleasure  of  both  is  the  same;  it  is  based 
on  a  similar  row  of  experiences,  beginning 
with  an  incipient  curiosity,  continuing  with 
numerous  eager  desires  for  specimens — satis- 
fied in  some  instances  and  thwarted  in  others — 
and  swelling  to  an  absorbing  "Passion."  All 
these  previous  experiences  are  crowded  into 
the  present  object  of  perception,  without 
which  it  would  lack  every  vestige  of  interest. 


Beauty  and  Morality  125 

The  "crescendo"  of  attention  alone  is  ac- 
countable for  the  "forte"  of  delight,  and 
would  lead  to  the  same  result,  no  matter 
what  the  objects  with  which  the  series  were 
developed. 

After  this  explanatory  digression  we  may 
revert  to  our  subject.  The  same  principles 
which  determine  the  fluctuating  values  of  the 
persons  and  objects  with  which  we  deal,  are 
operative  in  the  realms  of  beauty  and  morality. 
To  a  considerable  degree,  indeed,  they  even 
help  to  determine  what  we  consider  true  and 
false;  but  as  the  situation  in  this  case  is 
somewhat  more  complex,  we  shall  confine 
our  examination  in  the  main  to  the  other 
fields.  Several  of  the  illustrations  already 
used  border  on  the  aesthetic.  The  musing 
state  of  mind  with  which  we  regard  a  familiar 
old  building  or  caress  the  utensils  we  employ 
in  our  daily  occupations,  is  similar  to  that 
with  which  we  enjoy  a  work  of  art,  and  there 
is  a  charm  about  the  collector's  coins  or  the 
hero's  medals  which  can  almost  be  regarded 
as  a  species  of  beauty.  Objects  are  beautiful, 
to  a  considerable  degree,  as  they  incipiently 
awaken  numerous  vague  memories  and  form 
a  reflection  of  our  own  experience.     Hence 


126  Fluctuations  of 

the  sturdy  boy,  playing  outdoor  games  and 
dreaming  of  adventures,  will  revel  in  tales  of 
border  life,  the  budding  maiden  find  delight 
in  tearful  stories  of  love.  L 'Ami  Fritz  will 
call  forth  a  keen  response  if  we  relish  good 
things  to  eat  and  have  often  been  seated 
at  the  hospitable  board;  and  the  cynical 
aphorisms  of  La  Rochefoucauld  will  appeal  to 
us  when  we  have  been  deceived  by  men  in 
whose  honour  we  trusted. 

Was  the  Flemish  ideal  of  beauty  different 
from  the  Italian?  Objectively,  yes,  but  es- 
sentially, no;  for  if  the  Fleming  painted  his 
women  fat  and  buxom,  while  the  Venetian 
preferred  slenderer  forms,  this  was  due  to  a 
different  background  of  experience.  The  ideal 
of  the  Northerner  probably  forms  a  resume 
of  the  thousands  of  women  he  has  seen  since 
boyhood,  in  the  same  way  in  which  that  of  the 
Florentine  concentrates  the  charms  on  which 
his  own  eyes  have  rested.  The  operation  of 
the  principle  is  clearly  evident  in  the  realm 
of  fashion.  When  bustles  were  in  vogue  a 
woman  without  this  article  seemed  poorly 
proportioned;  donning  one  to-day  she  would 
appear  deformed.  In  fairness  to  our  judg- 
ments,   we   must   say   that    the   bustle   was 


Beauty  and  Morality  127 

pleasing  at  the  time  when  it  was  worn,  just 
as  the  crinoline  and  wig  doubtless  were  the 
source  of  aesthetic  delight.  But  the  whole 
realm  of  art  is  a  gigantic  application  of  the 
laws  which  regulate  dress.  There  are  fashions 
in  music  and  architecture  as  well  as  in  hats, 
only  their  scope  is  wider  and  they  do  not 
change  so  erratically.  What  other  than  a  mode 
was  the  classic  period  of  English  literature, 
or  the  romantic  epoch  in  France?  Indeed, 
even  such  universally  accepted  judgments 
as  the  statement  that  two  eyes  are  prettier 
than  one,  and  that  the  absence  of  nose  and 
ears  would  have  a  marring  effect,  may  be 
regarded  as  the  outcome  of  an  immutable 
fashion;  assuredly,  a  race  of  human  beings 
accustomed  to  one-eyed,  noseless,  and  earless 
faces  would  find  them  pleasing  and  pronounce 
our  own  hideous.  Think,  in  this  connection, 
of  the  distortion  of  feet  among  the  Chinese. 
A  lively  subject  of  dispute  in  my  college-days, 
was  the  question  whether  a  greasy  face  might 
ever  be  considered  attractive,  I  upholding  the 
affirmative  and  my  opponents  defending  the 
negative.  Later  I  learned  that  there  were 
races  among  whom  the  face  was  purposely 
greased   for  beautification.     A   red  nose,   to 


128  Fluctuations  of 

borrow  an  illustration  from  Fechner,  is  un- 
desirable, red  cheeks  are  admired.  The  former 
is  an  index  of  tippling,  the  latter  denote 
health.  But  inasmuch  as  health  is  often 
associated  with  ordinary  surroundings,  while 
the  envied  existence  of  the  noble  and  wealthy 
leads  to  pallor,  the  more  natural  inclination 
is  sometimes  eclipsed,  and  pale  cheeks  are 
preferred  to  blooming  ones.  Habit  and  asso- 
ciation alone  nurture  the  opinion  that  the 
human  foot  is  pretty;  nothing  could  be  more 
ridiculous  than  this  flat  appendage,  with  its 
stupid,  diminutive  toes;  if  we  disregard  the 
smooth  skin,  in  which  man  has  the  advantage, 
there  is  hardly  a  foot  among  the  higher 
animals  which  is  more  devoid  of  charm. 

In  England  the  sea  is  the  natural  abode  of 
poetry,  in  Germany  it  is  the  forest.  The  two 
correspond,  forming  an  omnipresent  back- 
ground, and  bearing  the  same  relation  to  the 
life  of  the  individual  and  the  race.  A  North- 
erner is  likely  to  find  the  large  stone  surfaces 
and  small  windows  of  Oriental  buildings  cold 
in  effect;  to  a  native  of  the  East,  accustomed 
to  a  blazing  sun,  they  must  suggest  delightful 
coolness.  Even  our  preferences  for  people 
of  opposite  appearance  and  character,  instead 


Beauty  and  Morality  129 

of  being  innate,  may  in  many  cases  be  the 
result  of  development.  A  tall  man  feels 
awkward  and  out  of  place  on  countless  oc- 
casions; a  desire  arises,  at  such  times,  to  be 
shorter  in  stature;  being  repeated,  this  finally 
becomes  permanent,  and  ever  after  is  sym- 
pathetically satisfied  when  a  short  person 
appears. 

The  illustrations  adduced  represent  two 
modes  of  associational  operation.  In  the 
case  of  sympathetic  works  of  literature  the 
aesthetic  timbre  seems  to  be  the  result  of  a 
resuscitation  and  blending  of  previous  im- 
pressions; the  product,  like  a  chemical  com- 
pound, may  undergo  a  certain  transformation 
in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  psychical  syn- 
thesis, but  it  is  the  outcome  of  a  mere  com- 
bination. In  the  case  of  the  ideals  of  stature, 
the  accompanying  halo  of  feeling  represents 
the  satisfaction  of  previous  desires;  it  corre- 
sponds to  the  sense  of  triumph  with  which,  af- 
ter long  practice,  we  finally  master  a  piece  of 
music  on  the  piano,  a  feeling  which  is  sympa- 
thetically aroused  when  we  observe  a  virtuoso 
playfully  overcoming  the  difficulties  which 
have  cost  us  so  much  trouble. 

The   realm   of   morals   presents    a   similar 


i3°  Fluctuations  of 

spectacle.  As  the  field  of  aesthetics  is  affil- 
iated with  the  larger  domain  of  values  in 
general,  so  the  phenomena  of  conduct  reveal 
many  points  of  resemblance  to  those  of  beauty. 
The  affiliation  is  especially  apparent  in  the 
minor  divisions  of  etiquette  and  tact.  Good 
manners  simply  represent  fashions  of  be- 
haviour, and  are  subject  to  the  same  laws 
of  fluctuation.  Tact  applies  the  rules  of 
behaviour  to  novel  situations.  If  etiquette 
corresponds  to  the  faultless  execution  of 
dancing  steps  which  have  previously  been 
learned,  tact  resembles  the  skilful  adaptation 
to  the  shifting  demands  of  a  game  of  tennis. 
In  the  realm  of  sexual  morality  the  concep- 
tions are  notoriously  divergent.  Polygamy, 
monogamy,  and  polyandry  are  all  practised 
with  perfect  sincerity  in  different  parts  of  the 
world.  Divorce  is  easy  to  obtain  in  some 
localities,  difficult  in  others.  Among  certain 
races  absolute  nudity  is  proper,  among  others 
small  parts  of  the  body  are  covered,  while 
in  Turkey  even  the  faces  of  women  are  sup- 
posed to  be  hidden.  Special  occasions,  too, 
demand  special  attire.  Normally,  among 
European  nations,  the  whole  figure  of  the 
female  is  draped;  but   in  the  ballroom   the 


Beauty  and  Morality  131 

arms  and  shoulders  may  be  bare,  while  the 
bathing  resort  allows  an  exposure  up  to  the 
knees.  How  shocking  it  would  be  for  a  lady 
to  enter  the  ballroom  in  a  swimming  costume, 
how  reprehensible  to  expose  her  bosom  on  the 
beach!  And  how  arbitrary  it  all  is,  how 
dependent  our  judgments  on  the  background 
of  previous  experience.  It  is  unnecessary  to 
multiply  examples.  For,  although  morality 
is  more  than  custom,  custom  is  an  integral 
factor  of  morality,  and  helps  to  create  the 
diversity  of  usage  prevailing  in  different  parts 
of  the  globe.  And  what  is  true  in  the  fields 
already  touched  upon  may  be  followed  into 
the  highest  regions  of  sanctity. 

We  could  continue  the  subject  into  the 
realm  of  truth.  Our  prejudices  and  beliefs 
often  result  from  the  co-operation  of  factors 
which  have  nothing  to  do  with  their  truth 
or  falsity.  How  many  of  our  convictions 
could  be  traced  back  to  the  trivial  fact  that 
somebody  else  held  the  opposite  opinion! 
And  tradition,  perpetual  reiteration,  psycho- 
logical atmosphere  form  the  basis  of  proposi- 
tions for  whose  truth  we  would  vouch  with  our 
lives.  But  there  is  an  important  difference 
between  these  cases  and  the  others.     If  a  work 


132  Fluctuations  of 

of  art  causes  aesthetic  pleasure  to  a  whole 
nation,  it  is  beautiful;  and  if  a  mode  of  con- 
duct meets  with  universal  approval,  we  are 
justified  in  calling  it  good.  But  the  Ptole- 
maic hypothesis  was  defended  for  centuries 
by  the  wisest  men,  and  yet  it  was  not  true. 
All  that  we  can  assert  is,  that  the  opinions 
of  men  rest  on  the  same  foundations  as  their 
sentiments  of  beauty  and  morality,  but  that 
the  truth  or  falsity  of  these  opinions  must 
be  established  on  other  grounds. 

The  associations  of  an  object,  then,  the  cir- 
cumstances and  feelings  in  connection  with 
which  it  has  been  experienced,  are  an  impor- 
tant factor  in  its  nature  and  meaning.  They 
are  packed  into  it  as  the  overtones  of  a 
fundamental  are  merged  into  its  timbre.  And 
perfect  knowledge  on  our  part  would  enable  us 
to  deduce  them  from  the  mere  impression  of 
the  object,  as  from  the  timbre  of  a  tone  we 
are  able  to  enumerate  its  various  overtones. 
The  object  bears  some  resemblance  to  an  ani- 
mal which  embryonically  reproduces  the  forms 
through  which  its  ancestors  have  passed  and 
thus  presents  in  epitome  the  entire  history 
of  its  race.  In  the  enveloping  feelings  it 
offers  a  clew  to  the  experiences  which  have 


Beauty  and  Morality  133 

preceded,  and  recites  in  miniature  the  history 
of  its  own  forerunners. 

Now,  as  there  are  various  groupings  of 
overtones,  corresponding  to  the  timbre  of  the 
fundamental,  so  there  must  be  specific  moulds, 
types,  or  series  of  associations  answering  to 
the  different  moral  and  aesthetic  judgments. 
In  these  we  should  have  the  expression  of  an 
absolutely  good  and  beautiful.  They  would 
embody  the  constant  elements  in  beauty  and 
morality;  they  would  apply  in  the  greatest 
variety  of  cases,  just  as  a  series  of  partials 
may  be  constructed  on  tones  of  different  pitch ; 
and  the  most  heterogeneous  objects  and  situa- 
tions, if  they  were  the  outcome  of  a  common 
series,  would  partake  of  an  absolutely  beautiful 
and  good.  Any  object,  then,  which  awakens 
a  sense  of  aesthetic  charm  or  moral  obligation 
ought,  with  adequate  insight,  to  be  recognised 
as  the  focus  of  the  associational  series  or 
formula  corresponding  to  that  sentiment ;  the 
formula  could  be  constructed  out  of  the  object, 
just  as  the  past  history  of  a  species  of  animals 
might  be  fashioned  out  of  the  embryological 
development  of  one  of  its  members.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  realisation  in  experience  of 
the  series  ought  to  enable  us  scientifically  to 


134  Fluctuations  of 

construct  the  appropriate  focussing  object,  just 
as  the  knowledge  of  a  group  of  overtones  makes 
it  possible  for  the  scientist  to  predict  the 
pitch  and  timbre  of  the  fundamental.  Prac- 
tically and  instinctively  we  are  often  able  to 
do  this,  as  when  an  artist  works  out  a  beautiful 
conception  without  direct  reference  to  reality. 
Hence  Schopenhauer  was  not  wrong  in  de- 
claring that  the  artist  has  the  forms  of  beauty 
within  him  and  gives  shape  to  them  spon- 
taneously: like  the  rest  of  mankind,  he  has 
their  overtones  within  him,  only  he  differs  from 
them  inasmuch  as  they  combine  more  easily, 
break  the  shells  of  unconsciousness,  and  burst 
forth  into  the  glorious  fundamentals. 

What  are  these  moulds  or  formulas?  How 
does  a  series  look  when  strung  out  into  its 
members?  A  difficult  question,  which  can 
only  be  answered  by  means  of  a  few  sug- 
gestions. The  sense  of  familiarity  and  com- 
panionship experienced  upon  meeting  an 
old  friend,  or  passing  a  monument  which  we 
have  admired  since  youth,  would  not  seem 
to  demand  anything  more  organised  than  a 
frequent  perception  in  the  past  of  this  person 
or  object — the  more  vivid  the  occasions,  the 
livelier  the  impression.     The  feeling  of  agree- 


Beauty  and  Morality  155 

able  surprise  and  emotional  freshness  which 
follows  upon  meeting  with  the  object  after  a 
long  interval  of  time,  is  reducible  to  the  same 
formula,  the  difference  being  that  there  is 
a  considerable  lapse  of  time  between  the 
present  and  the  foregoing  perception.  Other 
sentiments  require  more  definite  and  constant 
affiliations.  The  pleasure  caused  by  the 
sight  of  a  pair  of  ruddy  cheeks  depends  on  a 
rather  stable  association  of  glowing  colour  with 
health  and  good  spirits.  The  aesthetic  im- 
pression produced  in  poetry  and  the  fine  arts 
by  typical  or  ideal  figures  may  be  attributed 
to  the  condensation  of  the  interesting,  essen- 
tial, or  admirable  qualities  of  previous  ex- 
periences; the  figures  are  to  be  conceived  as 
points  of  union  in  which  what  was  best  in  the 
experiences  is  harmoniously  combined.  We 
have  all  seen  innumerable  samples  of  the 
human  form,  but  they  have  fallen  short  of 
perfection  in  many  particulars.  The  shapely 
organs  perceived  here  and  there  stretch 
forth  their  hands  and  demand  their  fitting 
mates.  But  they  ask  in  vain:  here  an  arm 
is  good,  but  receives  no  co-operation  in  the 
chest;  there  a  head  is  fine,  but  the  body 
fails  to  lend  it  adequate  support.     Suddenly 


i?  6  Fluctuations  of 


o 


V 


the  perfect  Apollo  appears,  and  all  are  ap- 
peased; all  may  grasp  hands,  and  their  em- 
brace is  the  aesthetic  thrill.  The  satisfying 
figure  is  the  embodiment  of  a  unity  which 
potentially  existed  in  the  numerous  preceding 
experiences,  but  of  which  any  single  one 
expressed  only  a  fraction  or  hint.  It  is  as  if 
a  dozen  unsymmetrical  pieces  of  gauze  were 
placed  behind  one  another,  every  piece  being 
different  in  shape,  but  the  common  area  which 
they  collectively  cover  forming  a  starlike 
figure;  our  past  impressions  of  an  object 
correspond  to  the  heterogeneous  fragments, 
and  a  work  of  art  embodying  a  typical  or 
idealised  example  of  that  object  answers  to 
the  star  which  they  potentially  contain. 

In  general  the  nature  of  a  series  will  depend 
on  the  number,  arrangement,  and  quality  of 
its  constituent  members.  The  boyhood  friend 
has  touched  our  life  at  more  points  than  has 
our  acquaintance  of  last  summer,  and  the 
timbre  of  emotion  which  his  presence  arouses 
is  different.  The  Christmas  tree  greets  our 
eyes  at  widely  separated  intervals,  and  there 
is  a  freshness  of  feeling  accompanying  its 
perception  which  is  not  present  in  the  case  of 
the  elm  before  the  door  that  we  see  every  day. 


Beauty  and  Morality  137 

The  holiday  bells,  the  funeral  wreath,  the 
wedding  ceremony,  the  quiet  of  Sunday, 
differ  in  the  nature  of  the  concomitant  feelings, 
and  this  divergence  ever  after  imparts  a 
characteristic  tinge.  It  is  the  task  of  theory 
to  trace  in  detail  the  nature  of  the  series  on 
which  the  various  aesthetic  and  ethical  judg- 
ments are  based,  noting  the  peculiarities 
which  differentiate  them  from  one  another, 
and  thus  establishing  absolute  formulas  of 
beauty  and  moral  worth. 

This  is  the  place  to  say  a  few  words  on  the 
development  or  progression  of  formulae.  It 
might  seem,  from  the  trend  of  our  reasoning, 
as  if  a  different  succession  of  experiences  would 
be  required  for  every  shade  of  feeling;  which, 
however,  is  not  the  case.  The  same  formula 
will  answer  for  a  variety  of  sentiments,  the 
feeling  undergoing  alterations  with  the  growth 
of  the  series.  Delight  in  an  object  not  un- 
commonly passes  into  indifference,  if  not 
tedium;  yet  the  same  formula  is  present,  en- 
larged through  the  addition  of  a  few  extra 
members.  Love  may  develop  into  hate, 
yet  here  also  the  original  formula  is  necessary 
as  a  basis  for  the  attachment  of  additional 
members,    and    so    for    novel    effects.     The 


138  Fluctuations  of 

freshness  of  feeling  referred  to  above,  ex- 
perienced upon  meeting  an  old  friend  after  a 
lapse  of  time,  differs  from  the  ordinary  sense  of 
familiarity  only  in  a  single  gap  in  the  associ- 
ational  series.  It  is  instructive,  in  this  con- 
nection, to  compare  the  opinions  which  people 
of  various  ages  express  on  the  same  subjects, 
— to  note  the  enthusiasm  of  youth,  the  so- 
briety of  advancing  years,  the  calmness  and 
indifference  of  old  age.  The  disagreement,  in 
many  cases,  simply  depends  on  the  various 
stages  of  experience  represented  by  the 
parties  concerned.  Is  it  worth  while  to  travel 
a  thousand  miles  and  suffer  incidental  dis- 
comforts, for  the  pleasure  of  viewing  an  ex- 
position? It  may  be  if  you  are  young,  have 
travelled  little,  have  seen  nothing  of  the 
world,  and  are  buoyant  enough  to  leap  over 
petty  annoyances;  but  it  is  not  if  you  have 
a  lifetime  behind  you,  have  wandered  from 
pole  to  equator,  and  have  repeatedly  viewed 
the  glories  of  an  exposition.  The  identical 
objects  will  make  the  most  divergent  im- 
pressions in  the  two  cases,  depending  upon 
the  number  and  kind  of  past  experiences 
which  are  packed  around  them.  It  makes  a 
big  difference  in  the  value  of  a  tone  whether 


Beauty  and  Morality  139 

it  occurs  in  the  course  of  a  crescendo  or  a 
diminuendo. 

To  sum  up,  then,  many  if  not  all  of  our 
experiences,  so  far  as  they  depend  on  overtone 
formulas,  may  be  manifestations  of  a  few 
fundamental  types.  And  the  transformation 
of  objects,  their  cycle  of  mutations  through 
the  gamut  of  stages,  is  steadily  progressing: 
the  flower  of  to-day  already  portends  the 
faded  petals  of  to-morrow,  while  the  bud  is 
preparing  to  take  its  place.  It  required  a 
long  accumulation  of  associational  elements 
to  make  me  delight  in  the  poem  before  me, 
but  the  same  process  which  built  up  my 
pleasure  will  disintegrate  it  again,  and  the 
poem  will  leave  me  cold,  while  the  picture 
which  now  cannot  extract  a  minute's  attention 
will  then  cause  me  to  glow. 

While  the  foregoing  may  not  offer  a  com- 
plete explanation  of  divergences  of  taste  and 
conduct,  while  other  factors  undoubtedly  are 
involved  and  other  methods  of  expressing  the 
same  facts  may  be  possible,  most  of  the 
differences  of  judgment  are  probably  to  be 
explained  by  the  principles  laid  down.  We 
are  misled  by  our  habit  of  viewing  life  in 
cross-sections;  to  obtain  correct  estimates  we 


14°  Fluctuations  of  Beauty  and  Morality 

must  take  account  of  the  stream  along  which 
we  are  floating.  The  present  is  built  on 
the  past,  and  its  full  significance  is  only 
revealed  when  we  examine  the  nature  of 
the  foundation. 


ON  HOMOLOGY  OF  THOUGHT 
AND  ACTION 


i4i 


ON  HOMOLOGY  OF  THOUGHT  AND  ACTION 


GEOMETRICAL    homology     refers     to 
"quantities  and  magnitudes"  which 
"correspond,  or  are  like  to  one  an- 
other." *     In  the  triangles  a  b  c  and  ABC 


the  sides  be,  ac,  ab,  are  homologous,  respect- 
ively, to  BC,  AC,  AB,  the  angles  a,  b,  c  to 
A,  B,  C. 

The  determining  feature  of  homology  is 
similarity  in  relation  to  the  totality  of  members. 
We  cannot  pronounce  on  the  correspondence 
of  two  lines  merely  by  comparing  their  length 
and    form;    in    addition,    we    must    examine 

1  Chambers' s  Encyclopedia,  article  "  Homologous." 

143 


M4  Homology  of 

the  figures  from  which  they  are  taken,  and 
ascertain  whether  they  are  similar  with 
reference  to  them.  An  inspection  of  ab,  ac, 
AB,  and  so  forth,  without  any  clew  to  their 
arrangement  in  the  triangles,  would  result  in 
grouping  together  ac  and  BC — with  approxi- 
mately the  same  length — but  not  be  and  BC. 
An  examination  of  the  triangles,  on  the  con- 
trary, obliges  us  to  pair  off  the  two  latter. 

The  same  determination  of  similarity,  on 
the  basis  of  relation,  is  practised  in  biology. 
The  wings  of  birds,  the  fore  legs  of  quad- 
rupeds, and  the  flippers  of  whales,  for  instance, 
though  highly  dissimilar  in  appearance  and 
function,  are  adjudged  homologous,  by  reason 
of  their  similar  situation  in  their  respective 
organisms.  Considered  by  themselves,  a  hu- 
man arm  and  an  equine  limb  would  perhaps 
never  be  classed  together  ;  viewed  in  their 
totality  and  connections,  however,  they  re- 
veal the  correspondence. 

ii 

It  might  be  profitable  to  apply  the  idea  of 
homology  to  the  conscious  life  of  man, — 
to  his  mental  and  emotional  experiences,  his 
social  activities  and  institutions.     Here,  too, 


Thought  and  Action  145 

there  are  resemblances  which  are  not  apparent 
from  a  superficial  examination,  but  which 
depend  on  the  relations  between  the  things 
compared  and  the  totals  of  which  they  are 
parts.  The  failure  to  recognise  this  is  one  of 
the  most  frequent  sources  of  error.  To  begin 
with  the  subject  of  money,  nothing  is  more 
common  than  to  hear  people  making  com- 
parisons between  the  wages  in  different  places, 
and  stumbling  into  misjudgments  concern- 
ing their  relative  values.  The  differences  in 
dollars  and  cents  are  accepted  as  faithful 
reflections  of  the  actual  disparities,  and  the 
conditions  are  pronounced  good  or  bad  in  ac- 
cordance. But  we  need  hardly  be  reminded 
that  the  essential  value  of  a  man's  salary 
does  not  depend  on  the  number  of  dollars 
in  which  it  may  be  expressed,  but  on  its 
buying-power.  If  the  single  dollar  of  one 
person  commands  as  much  as  the  double 
amount  of  another,  the  wages  are  equivalent. 
In  regard  to  the  prices  of  commodities,  the 
two  sums  may  be  considered  homologous; 
they  resemble  lines  from  similar  triangles, 
unlike  enough  by  themselves,  but  equal  in 
relation  to  the  remaining  sides. 

But  not  only  equality  of  buying-power  is  to 


V 


146  Homology  of 

be  considered.  The  orphan's  rag  doll  is  the 
homologue  of  the  wealthier  child's  expensive 
to 3/,  if  the  pleasure  it  causes  is  the  same.  The 
toys  and  games  of  youth  correspond  to  the 
important  institutions  and  undertakings  of 
adults,  the  unnoticed  doings  of  obscure  people 
to  the  conspicuous  actions  of  men  of  fame. 
When  Schopenhauer  declares  that  "it  is  all 
the  same,  as  far  as  inward  significance  is 
concerned,  whether  ministers  discuss  the 
fate  of  countries  and  nations  over  a  map,  or 
boors  wrangle  in  a  beer-house  over  cards 
and  dice,'"  he  is  simply  indicating  the  homo- 
logy of  the  two  cases.  A  transformation  of 
the  boors  into  ministers  would  result  in  their 
acting  like  ministers,  and  vice  versa.  Simi- 
larly, when  he  maintains  that  a  man's  charac- 
ter is  unalterable,  and  that  his  actions,  no 
matter  how  much  they  may  seem  to  vary, 
always  remain  essentially  alike,  he  wishes  to 
convey  the  meaning  that  they  remain  homo- 
logous: they  bear  a  certain  constant,  invariable 
relation  to  the  totality  of  his  circumstances, 
thoughts,  and  feelings, — and  transformations 
like  those  suggested  would  again  lead  to 
identity    of    conduct.     So,    also,    when    he 

1  The  World  as  Will  and  Idea,  London,  1891,  vol.  i.,  p.  298. 


Thought  and  Action  147 


io 


asserts  that  history  offers  nothing  essentially 
new, — that  the  course  of  events  keeps  on 
repeating  itself, — he  means  that  homologous 
events  are  perpetually  occurring.  History 
might  thus  be  conceived  as  a  magnified  human 
experience,  and  its  constancy  as  a  gigantic 
fixity  of  character;  the  phases  of  historical 
evolution  would  correspond  to  the  successive 
actions  of  a  single  man,  and  their  sameness  to 
the  essential  similarity  of  his  actions. 

Whether  we  quite  agree  with  Schopenhauer 
or  not,  it  will  readily  be  admitted  that  the 
direct  impression,  the  immediate  appearance, 
of  objects  and  events,  is  often  misleading,  and 
that  things  which  superficially  resemble  one 
another  are  often  in  a  deeper  sense  highly 
different,  while  those  that  apparently  differ 
may  in  reality  be  closely  allied.  This  is  true 
of  individual  as  well  as  of  collective  and  his- 
torical experiences;  it  is  true  in  the  ethical, 
aesthetical,  and  logical  field, — true  of  modes 
of  conduct,  works  of  art,  and  scientific  or 
religious  beliefs.  Even  in  the  most  ordinary 
discussions,  an  observance  of  homology  would 
reconcile  many  apparent  disagreements.  A 
and  B  are  arguing  about  the  necessity  of  a 
recognition  of  our  doings  on  the  part  of  our 


148  Homology  of 

fellow-men.  A  maintains  that  recognition  is 
necessary  as  an  incentive  to  action,  B  spurns 
the  applause  of  men  as  worthless.  Apparently 
an  utter,  hopeless  clashing  of  opinion;  yet 
the  contradiction  may  be  merely  superficial, 
both  parties  essentially  upholding  the  same 
truth.  A  is  an  atheist,  who  considers  the 
human  mind  as  the  highest  embodiment  of 
consciousness  in  the  universe;  B  is  a  Christian, 
who  believes  in  overarching  spiritual  powers. 
He  also  demands  recognition  of  his  actions,  but 
he  is  content  if  it  comes  from  the  higher  beings, 
and  in  the  possession  of  their  approval  is  ready 
to  forego  the  applause  of  men.  Both  believe 
in  the  desirability  of  appreciation,  but  the  ex- 
tent of  consciousness  is  conceived  differently. 
A's  conception  of  humanity  is  not  homologous 
to  B's,  the  former  representing  the  bulk  of 
conscious  illumination,  the  latter  a  mere 
fragment  of  the  totality.  The  "humanity" 
of  the  one  really  corresponds  to  the  "higher 
spiritual  world"  of  the  other,  i.e.,  both  fill 
the  same  relative  position  in  the  totality  of 
conscious  life,  as  postulated  by  the  disputants. 
Hence  A's  "recognition  of  humanity"  corre- 
sponds to  B's  "  approval  of  the  higher  beings." 
Fully  as  numerous  are  the  illustrations  from 


Thought  and  Action  149 


the  field  of  conduct.  The  wrangles  of  the 
boors  and  ministers  are  a  case  in  point.  The 
refined  vices  of  the  rich  and  cultured  are 
homologous  to  the  brutalities  of  the  lowly 
and  uneducated.  The  widow's  mite  is  equiv- 
alent to  the  millionaire's  dazzling  bequest. 
The  amusing  faults  of  children  are  miniature 
copies  of  the  graver  shortcomings  of  adults. 
In  this  field  especially  the  observance  of  ho- 
mology would  be  beneficial.  A  considerable 
number  of  the  daily  little  frictions,  misun- 
derstandings, and  condemnations  arise  from 
its  non-observance.  We  see  only  the  single 
lines,  metaphorically  speaking,  the  remaining 
members  being  written  in  sympathetic  ink; 
we  are  presented  with  isolated  hands,  flippers, 
hoofs,  and  wings,  but  the  supporting  organ- 
isms remain  hidden  from  view.  Small  won- 
der, then,  that  we  should  couple  the  wings  of 
the  bat  and  butterfly,  while  failing  to  recog- 
nise the  affinity  between  the  former  and  the 
arms  of  man. 

The  force  of  these  observations  is  especially 
apparent  in  our  treatment  of  children.  How 
often  we  chide  and  punish,  when  we  indulge 
ourselves  so  freely  in  homologous  deeds. 
Superficially  there  may  be  no   resemblance 


i/ 


150  Homology  of 

between  their  modes  of  conduct  and  our  own, 
but  closer  examination  will  often  reveal  the 
deeper  agreement.  Two  practical  results  fol- 
low. In  the  first  place,  we  should  be  more 
lenient  with  our  children:  recognising  that 
their  doings  are  the  homologues  of  actions  in 
which  we  justifiably  indulge  ourselves,  and 
which  we  should  be  loath  to  renounce,  we 
ought  not  to  meet  their  innocent  desires  with 
such  habitual  vetoes.  If,  however,  we  regard 
an  indulgence  of  their  wishes  as  harmful, 
and  are  fully  convinced  that  it  should  not  be 
tolerated,  then  we  must  exercise  a  little  more 
restraint  on  ourselves ;  we  must  consider 
whether  the  homologue  of  that  which  is  so 
reprehensible  in  our  children  may  not  like- 
wise be  unwholesome  in  our  own  persons. 

With  reference  to  Biblical  facts  and  cere- 
monies, the  principle  of  homology  is  of  the 
utmost  importance.  There  is  danger  of  inter- 
preting the  facts  in  a  strictly  literal  manner 
and  in  this  sense  pronouncing  them  valid  for 
all  times  and  conditions,  without  regard  for 
surrounding  circumstances.  It  would  be  ri- 
diculous, for  example,  to  take  seriously  the 
passage  in  which  Paul  admonishes  the  women 
not    to  wear   ' '  braided  hair  '      and    ' '  costly 


Thought  and  Action  151 

raiment."  Evidently  this  admonition  was 
prompted  by  special  conditions  of  time  and 
place,  and  ceased  to  have  any  force  when  these 
changed.  Viewed  merely  as  an  objective  fact, 
designated  by  a  certain  name,  braiding  the 
hair  may  of  course  be  the  same  everywhere ; 
but  viewed  in  relation  to  its  surrounding 
circumstances,  it  may  undergo  extensive  al- 
terations of  significance.  And  what  holds 
true  of  that  applies  likewise  to  many  other 
Biblical  offices,  ceremonies,  and  rules.  Deeper 
insight  has  always  recognised  this  truth,  not 
only  in  theology,  but  also  beyond  its  domains: 
it  is  according  to  the  spirit  rather  than  the 
letter,  we  are  told,  that  we  must  interpret, 
both  the  teachings  of  Christianity  and  the 
phenomena  of  life  and  conduct  in  general. 
The  doctrine  of  homology  simply  endeav- 
ours to  analyse  this  spirit,  and  show  that  it 
also  is  amenable  to  scientific  treatment. 

Passing  to  a  more  historical  point  of  view, 
we  find  an  excellent  illustration  of  the  inade- 
quacy of  direct  appearances,  as  an  index  of 
deeper  significance,  in  the  case  of  ancient 
and  modern  music.  In  certain  essential  re- 
spects the  art  of  tones,  as  cultivated  by  the 
Greeks,   was  altogether   different   from  that 


152  Homology  of 

of  to-day.  In  the  first  place,  it  comprehended 
more,  including  poetry  and  dancing,  and 
thus  comprised  a  considerable  fraction  of  the 
arts.  In  the  second  place,  education  com- 
prehended less,  the  teaching  numbering  but 
a  few  subjects  in  addition  to  music  and 
gymnastics.  The  essential  position  of  music, 
accordingly — its  relation  to  the  totality  of 
life  and  civilisation — was  entirely  different. 
Greek  music  was  almost  coincident  with  our 
"  culture ' '  and  ' '  knowledge. ' '  Its  homologue 
is  more  nearly  expressed  by  the  word  "edu- 
cation "  than  by  the  term  "  art  of  tones." 1 

The  bearing  of  this  on  the  ancient  concep- 
tion of  the  moral  effect  of  music  is  obvious. 
Plato,  the  spokesman  of  antiquity,  seems  to 
have  had  an  exalted  opinion  of  the  art,  in  this 
respect,  believing  that  it  possessed  the  power 
of  directly  moulding  the  nature  of  man.  To 
a  modern  such  opinions  sound  strange,  almost 
incomprehensible.     Certainly,  music  does  not 

1  The  matter  might  be  still  further  complicated  through 
a  consideration  of  the  place  which  education  held  in  Greek 
life.  Just  as  music  occupied  a  different  position  in  the 
totality  of  education,  so  education  may  have  held  a  different 
position  in  the  totality  of  life.  Perfect  homology  would 
depend  on  a  similarity  of  relation  with  reference  to  the 
complete  organism,  after  a  consideration  of  all  the  factors. 


Thought  and  Action  153 

exhibit  such  remarkable  effects  among  us; 
there  are  superior  men  with  no  susceptibility 
to  its  charms,  and  musicians  whose  conduct 
leaves  much  to  be  desired.  Substitute  the 
words  "education"  and  "culture"  for  the 
term  "music,"  however,  and  the  effect  as- 
cribed becomes  more  comprehensible. 

This  one  example  will  suffice  to  illustrate 
the  difficulty  of  forming  adequate  judgments 
of  historical  conditions,  institutions,  persons, 
and  events.  Were  we  unacquainted  with  the 
position  of  music  in  the  life  of  the  Greeks, 
how  strange  the  words  of  Plato  would  appear. 
There  must  be  numerous  similar  cases,  in 
which  the  significant  vistas  which  gave  the 
historic  happenings  their  meaning  have  been 
lost  beyond  recall,  and  where  it  is  no  longer 
possible  to  understand  and  appreciate  the 
situations  and  events.  It  is  said  that  we  can- 
not form  a  correct  estimate  of  a  historic  per- 
sonage or  institution  while  we  are  in  close 
proximity  to  it,  i.e.,  we  cannot  see  it  with  the 
proper  perspective.  But  the  converse  is 
equally  true,  that  we  cannot  realise  the  im- 
mediate, near-by  aspect  from  the  perspec- 
tive,— that  we  cannot,  from  a  distance, 
form  an  adequate  conception  of   a  situation 


154  Homology  of 

as  it  appeared  to  the  people  living  in  or  along- 
side of  it.  We  read  about  an  institution,  prin- 
ciple, dogma,  or  event;  but  we  are  merely 
dealing  with  the  empty  doorways  of  historical 
fact:  the  long  arcades  of  accompanying  sce- 
nery, the  rich  backgrounds  of  experience,  the 
vistas  of  flowers  and  trees  and  clouds  which, 
figuratively  speaking,  once  peered  through 
these  frameworks,  have  vanished;  and  we  are 
left  with  a  dry  fossil  instead  of  a  pulsating 
organism. 

We  all  know  that  in  order  to  obtain  a  par- 
ticular reflection  or  prismatic  effect,  it  is  some- 
times necessary  to  view  an  object  from  a 
definite  angle,  any  deviation  to  the  right  or  left 
destroying  the  effect  at  once.  Now  suppose 
a  multitude  of  objects  so  disposed  about  us 
that  their  glories  of  tints  and  shadings  will 
only  burst  upon  us  when  we  stand  in  their 
exact  centre,  and  we  have  a  picture  of  the 
adequate  comprehension  of  historic  situations. 
Here,  too,  the  effect  depends  on  the  constella- 
tion of  numerous  factors,  and  a  perfect  view 
can  only  be  gained  by  placing  one's  self  in 
their  centre  and  allowing  their  influences  to 
operate. 

Names,    and    material,    objective     aspects 


Thought  and  Action  155 

are  the  marks  by  which  we  generally  classify 
things,  and  determine  their  meaning  and 
value.  If  only  the  name  or  the  external  im- 
pression remains  constant,  the  thing  is  also 
supposed  to  be  the  same.  But  manifestly, 
the  designation  or  appearance  may  rest  un- 
changed, while  there  is  a  profound  altera- 
tion in  essential  being.  A  familiar  example 
is  that  of  pieces  of  real  estate.  A  man  may 
preserve  his  property  intact  for  years,  retain- 
ing every  tree  and  flower-bed,  every  chair 
and  picture,  in  its  original  position,  yet  there 
may  be  a  radical  variation  in  the  nature  of  the 
place.  Instead  of  the  splendid  surrounding 
residences  of  yore,  there  may  be  dilapidated 
houses;  instead  of  the  fine  old  trees  that 
hemmed  the  street,  prosaic  telegraph  poles; 
around  the  corner  there  are  gambling  dens, 
and  the  air  above,  once  clear  and  refreshing, 
has  become  thick  with  smoke.  The  place 
itself — its  street  and  house-number,  its  extent 
of  frontage,  and  the  like — may  still  be  the 
same;  but  its  surroundings  have  changed, 
and  their  variations  have  reacted  on  it, 
producing  an  alteration  which  is  materially 
expressed  in  its  depreciated  value,  and 
aesthetically  in  the  forlorn  impression  it  pro- 


156  Homology  of 

duces  in  the  midst  of  the  surrounding  dirt 
and  decay. 

The  same  may  be  true  of  religious  or  scien- 
tific beliefs,  works  of  art,  and  political  or 
ecclesiastical  institutions.  Here,  too,  we  may 
have  objective  fixity,  hiding  the  most  exten- 
sive fluctuations  of  inner  value.  A  symphony 
of  Mozart  seems  to  have  undergone  no  change 
since  it  left  the  hand  of  the  composer  a  century 
and  a  quarter  ago;  not  a  note  has  been  altered, 
not  a  sign  been  added  or  lost.  Yet  the  com- 
position is  not  what  it  was;  there  have  been 
developments  in  the  art  of  tones,  which  react 
on  the  notes  and  produce  a  marked  difference 
in  their  effect.  Music,  in  general,  has  grown 
richer  in  harmony  and  orchestral  volume. 
Accordingly,  the  compositions  which  formerly 
sounded  rich  and  full  are  now  more  likely  to 
appear  thin  and  obvious;  there  has  been  a 
change  in  the  standard  of  instrumental  volume 
and  harmonic  colouring,  so  to  speak,  which  is 
equivalent  to  an  alteration  in  the  music  itself. 

Musical  compositions,  governments,  consti- 
tutions, religious  sects,  social  and  political 
organisations, — all  are  perpetually  undergoing 
transformation,  as  the  result  of  changes  in  the 
related   institutions   about   them.     The  con- 


Thought  and  Action  157 

servatives,  seemingly  the  advocates  of  stabil- 
ity, may  be  the  champions  of  innovation,  as 
it  is  evinced  in  the  slow,  imperceptible  progress 
of  decomposition  and  decay.  The  radicals, 
on  the  contrary,  may  be  the  true  conservatives, 
correcting  the  degeneration  of  institutions  by 
jerks  and  pulls  which  restore  them  to  their 
original  proportions.  The  former  cling  to  the 
line,  while  the  others  propose  a  suitable  ad- 
justment which  will  restore  the  original  har- 
mony between  all  the  members  of  the  triangle 
and  thus  guarantee  a  deeper  permanence. 
Life,  accordingly,  resembles  a  gigantic  mov- 
ing ratio,  in  which,  for  the  maintenance  of 
the  proper  balance,  the  one  term  must  keep 
pace  with  the  alterations  of  the  other.  The 
change  is  a  necessary  condition  of  the  perma- 
nence, and  the  proper  permanence  is  one  of 
relation  or  proportion,  instead  of  external, 
objective  appearance. 

in 

In  the  realm  of  art  the  principle  of  homo- 
logy accounts  for  much  of  the  notorious  varia- 
tion in  the  effect  of  individual  works,  and  for 
the  divergence  of  taste  between  different 
peoples  and  times. 


1 58  Homology  of 

Works  which  externally  seem  to  undergo 
no  change,  lose  in  interest  and  fade  into  indif- 
ference; they  depreciate,  like  pieces  of  real 
estate,  they  vary  through  variations  in  the 
spiritual  environs.  The  electric  currents  of 
associative  feeling  which  once  vivified  them 
have  been  turned  off,  and  the  cold  carbons 
no  longer  contain  any  glow  to  illumine  the 
mind  of  the  onlooker.  Certain  musical  com- 
positions, as  mentioned,  have  grown  pale  as 
the  result  of  variations  in  the  standard  of 
orchestral  volume  and  harmonic  richness. 
The  Shakespearean  fool,  likewise,  has  under- 
gone extensive  alterations.  The  laugh  which 
he  now  provokes  is  an  artificial  duty-affair. 
All  the  natural  currents  of  association  which 
once  were  centred  in  him  have  been  shut  off, 
and  he  fails  to  scintillate  with  any  humour, 
unless  our  storage-battery  of  historical  criti- 
cism and  ideal  transplantation  vivifies  him 
with  a  feeble  glamour  of  sympathetic  appre- 
ciation. The  modern  representative  of  the 
fool,  at  least  in  America,  is  to  be  found  in  the 
caricatures  of  foreign  nationalities,  as  they 
abound  in  our  comic  papers  or  greet  us  from 
the  vaudeville  stage.  The  very  sight  of  such 
a  caricature   already  puts  us  into  an  expect- 


Thought  and  Action  159 


ant,  sympathetic  attitude,  which  furnishes  a 
prepared  surface  for  the  matches  of  wit  that 
follow.  The  Elizabethans  undoubtedly  pos- 
sessed a  similar  surface  for  the  fool,  but  it  has 
been  worn  off  by  the  friction  of  time. 

What  is  true  here  will  also  apply  to  the 
royal  personages,  court  scenes,  and  pageants 
abounding  in  the  older  dramas,  or  in  general 
to  the  local  flavour — unaccustomed  to  it  as 
we  usually  are — which  we  find  throughout 
literature.  The  historic  plays  of  the  great 
English  bard,  for  instance,  must  have  made 
an  entirely  different  impression  on  the  people 
of  the  Elizabethan  era  from  what  they  make 
on  us;  they  were  the  foci  of  innumerable  rays 
of  vivid  interest,  and  thousands  of  associa- 
tional  beams  shone  through  them  which  are 
absent  to-day. 

So  likewise  with  the  dramas  and  epics  of  the 
old  Greeks,  often  extolled  as  models.  The 
works  of  the  Greeks,  as  they  are  read  at  col- 
lege, are  not  the  works  that  thrilled  the  Hel- 
lenes. The  Iliad  is  not  the  exalted  song  of 
the  age  of  Pericles.  It  lacks  certain  qualities 
which  it  once  possessed,  but  which  have  en- 
tirely evaporated  with  the  change  of  external 
circumstances.     In  the  Iliad  of  the  Greeks 


160  Homology  of 

there  was  an  important  relation  to  the  warm, 
interesting  life  of  the  day, — to  the  gods  that 
were  daily  worshipped,  the  heroes  whose 
statues  were  posted  up  at  every  corner  and 
who  were  the  constant  goals  of  emulation,  and 
to  the  scenes  and  places  which  were  so  familiar. 
Like  the  hand  of  the  driver,  guiding  half  a 
dozen  horses,  its  verses  held  the  reins  which 
led  back  to  multitudes  of  interesting  experi- 
ences. To-day,  however,  all  this  is  changed; 
the  reins  have  dropped  away,  and  the  verses 
have  lost  considerable  value.  In  the  respects 
under  consideration,  the  Iliad  is  more  nearly 
homologous  to  certain  later  works  of  a  very 
different  character.  It  corresponds  to  the 
Edda  of  the  Pagan  Teutons,  the  Inferno  of 
the  contemporaries  of  Dante,  the  Bible  of  the 
early  Protestants,  and  the  Faust  of  the  modern 
world.  To  expect  us  to  enter  fully  into  the 
spirit  of  the  old  classic  models  and  give  them 
the  preference  over  modern  works,  which  are 
more  akin  to  our  sympathies,  is  to  demand 
the  substitution  of  a  limb  for  the  entire  organ- 
ism. In  order  to  revel  in  the  works  of  the 
ancients,  as  the  ancients  themselves  did,  it 
would  be  necessary  to  re-establish  all  those 
thousands   of   associations   with   which   they 


Thought  and  Action  161 


*& 


were  interlaced, — in  short,  to  live  the  lives  of 
the  ancients,  share  their  ideals,  believe  in  their 
gods,  and  forget  all  that  has  happened  in  the 
two  thousand  intervening  years. 

Some  of  the  enthusiasm  which  is  felt  for 
the  classics  is  probably  due  to  a  renewed, 
hothouse  cultivation, — to  the  establishment 
of  an  artificial  milieu.  In  place  of  the  ancient 
associations  with  the  life  and  religion  of  the 
day,  we  now  have  the  recollections  of  our  own 
school-days.  Having  studied  the  classics  for 
years,  we  have  made  them  the  nuclei  of 
innumerable  associated  experiences,  thus  im- 
parting a  charm  somewhat  similar  to  that 
which  originally  adhered  to  them.  We  have 
given  them  some  of  the  rich  timbre  and  "at- 
homeness"  characterising  old  friends,  which 
differentiates  the  latter  so  sharply  from 
strangers.  In  fine,  we  may  say  that  a  classic 
work  will  produce  three  different  effects,  in 
accordance  with  the  nature  of  the  person  to 
whom  it  is  addressed;  the  ancient  Greek,  the 
modern  soaked  in  classics,  and  the  modern 
without  classical  training  will  all  be  affected  in  I 
a  specific,  individual  manner.  There  will  be 
a  freshness  in  the  appreciation  of  the  Greek, 
which  is  still  present  in  subdued  form  in  that 


ii 


1 62  Homology  of 

of  the  scholar,  but  which  is  absent  in  the  case 
of  the  layman. 

Accompanying  this  loss  in  vitality,  there 
will,  however,  be  an  addition  of  interest, 
through  the  charm  of  historical  perspective. 
All  objects,  when  seen  at  a  temporal  distance, 
acquire  a  romantic  glamour.  The  works  of 
the  Greeks  will  also  invest  themselves  with 
this  halo,  thus  gaining  an  interest  which  they 
did  not  possess  at  the  time  they  were  written. 
In  view  of  this  fact,  it  might  be  contended 
that  much  of  the  modern  delight  in  the 
classics  is  in  reality  traceable  to  romantic 
sources;  it  is  an  enjoyment  of  classicism  at  a 
distance,  which  is  by  no  means  the  same  thing 
as  the  effect  at  close  range.  Seen  near  by, 
classic  works  partake  of  the  realistic,  while  at 
a  distance  they  are  more  romantic  and  mys- 
tical in  nature. 

Still  another  factor  which  tends  to  modify 
our  enjoyment  of  classic  works  is  their  con- 
trast with  later  productions.  We  may  not 
enjoy  simplicity  at  first,  but  may  return  to  it 
with  pleasure  after  wandering  through  the 
mazes  of  mystery  and  complexity.  Much  of 
Goethe's  enjoyment  of  the  classic,  during  the 
middle  period  of  his  life,    was    perhaps  not 


Thought  and  Action  163 

entirely  spontaneous  in  nature,  but  due  to 
such  a  contrast ;  while  apparently  revelling  in 
the  simplicity  of  the  ancients,  he  was  enjoy- 
ing something  far  more  involved,  namely,  this 
simplicity  seen  on  the  background  of  his 
earlier  complexity  and  romanticism. 

We  realise,  accordingly,  that  the  modern 
enjoyment  of  ancient  works  is  by  no  means 
the  same  thing  as  their  original,  first-hand 
appreciation.  On  the  one  hand  the  works 
lose  a  realistic  vividness,  imparted  by  their 
associations  with  familiar  things ;  on  the  other 
they  gain  a  romantic  glamour,  due  to  their 
remoteness  and  strangeness.  Besides,  they 
secure  a  secondary  interest  through  their  con- 
nection with  the  youthful  hours  of  study,  and 
a  charm  of  contrast  due  to  their  divergence 
from  modern  productions.  Works  of  art, 
indeed,  are  not  stable  and  unchanging,  but  like 
pieces  of  real  estate  assume  essentially  differ- 
ent aspects,  in  accordance  with  the  changes 
about  them. 

IV 

Now  for  some  conclusions  of  a  more  com- 
prehensive nature.  The  similarity  or  dissim- 
ilarity of  social  and  artistic  phenomena,  we 


164  Homology  of 

have  learned,  depends  less  on  their  immediate, 
objective  aspect  than  on  their  hidden  affilia- 
tions. The  phenomena  are  not  to  be  judged 
as  isolated  spots,  but  as  organic  members. 

It  is  clear,  in  the  first  place,  that  there  must 
be  organisms.  If  the  phenomena  we  are  con- 
sidering are  to  be  compared  to  the  sides  of 
triangles  or  the  members  of  animal  structures, 
the  totals  of  which  they  are  parts  must  exist. 
That  is,  there  must  be  moulds,  types,  or  for- 
mulae of  which  the  phenomena  are  constituent 
factors.  In  these,  accordingly,  we  shall  find 
their  true  being  and  significance.  What  are 
these  moulds,  types,  or  formulas?  In  regard 
to  our  initial  cases,  the  answer  will  not  be 
difficult.  Similarity  of  wages,  for  example, 
will  be  determined  by  identity  of  relation  be- 
tween the  earnings  and  the  cost  of  living. 
The  formula  for  the  absolute  low-water  level 
of  wages,  i.e.,  for  earnings  upon  which  it  is 
barely  possible  to  live,  will  be  :  equality  be- 
tween pay  and  the  necessaries  of  life.  In  the 
shape  of  a  ratio,  this  formula  would  be  ex- 
pressed as  i :  i ,  the  antecedent  standing  for  the 
earnings  and  the  consequent  for  the  cost  of 
the  necessaries.  As  the  wages  increase,  the 
antecedent  will  of  course  advance  over  the 


Thought  and  Action  165 

consequent.  The  same  formula  will  also 
answer  for  donations,  the  genuine  amounts 
being  expressed  by  the  ratios  between  the 
sums  presented  and  the  fortunes  of  the  donors. 

In  the  case  of  the  toys,  and  so  forth,  the 
matter  becomes  more  involved,  as  the  second 
or  compared  terms  of  the  ratios  are  not  so 
palpable  in  nature.  It  is  easy  enough  to  ex- 
press the  relation  between  a  man's  wages  and 
the  market  prices  of  food  and  clothing,  but 
not  so  simple  to  reproduce  that  between  a 
rocking-horse  and  the  desires  of  the  boy  re- 
ceiving it.  Without  doubt,  however,  there 
is  a  proportion  in  this  case  as  well,  quite  as 
exact  as  that  embodied  in  the  gifts  or  wages; 
if  a  rocking-horse  produces  as  much  satisfac- 
tion in  the  case  of  one  boy  as  a  pony  in  that 
of  another,  if  both  occupy  the  same  relative 
position  in  the  respective  lives,  the  same  for- 
mula may  be  said  to  apply. 

Passing  to  scientific  and  religious  beliefs, 
moral  situations,  and  works  of  art,  we  find 
the  matter  increasing  considerably  in  com- 
plexity; yet,  on  the  basis  of  the  foregoing 
considerations,  and  of  the  identity  of  the 
accompanying  feelings,  we  are  warranted  in 
postulating  definite  formulae  even  here.     To 


1 66  Homology  of 

confine  ourselves  for  the  present  to  the  realm 
of  art,  the  existence  of  such  formulas  would 
afford  an  escape  from  all  that  confusion  and 
hopeless  lack  of  standard  which  is  the  result 
of  the  great  diversity  of  tastes.  We  natu- 
rally postulate  absoluteness  in  the  realm  of 
beauty.  The  facts,  however,  reveal  a  bewil- 
dering disagreement  of  judgments :  the  work 
that  sends  the  one  into  raptures  leaves  the 
other  cold,  or  even  awakens  his  repugnance. 
If  there  is  an  absolute  beauty,  why  do  not  all 
people  see  it  in  the  same  objects?  The  ques- 
tion is  justified,  and  in  the  absence  of  an  im- 
mediate answer  we  are  tempted  to  reply  that 
there  is  no  such  absoluteness,  but  that  all 
is    irredeemable,  chaotic  disorder. 

However,  may  we  not  be  duplicating  the 
error  mentioned  above  in  connection  with 
geometric  figures  and  animal  organisms?  As 
in  the  triangles,  may  there  not  be  a  similarity 
in  spite  of  the  divergence  of  immediate  ap- 
pearance, and  may  not  this  similarity  embody 
the  constant  factor  we  are  seeking?  Consider 
artistic  productions  objectively  and  mate- 
rially, without  regard  for  their  elusive  affilia- 
tions, and  you  will  never  be  able  to  mark  off 
universal  types.     The  attempt  to  do  so  is 


Thought  and  Action  167 

as  hopeless  as  the  endeavour  to  show  similar- 
ity in  a  multitude  of  unequal  lines.  But  as 
the  lines  may  be  homologous  in  relation  to 
their  respective  triangles,  so  the  works  of  art 
may  be  equivalent  with  respect  to  certain 
types  or  formulae  to  which  they  belong.  We 
thus  obtain  an  absoluteness  alongside  of,  or 
rather  in,  the  relativity.  Art-works  may  be 
relative  in  nature,  but  their  very  relations 
may  embody  a  certain  constancy,  correspond- 
ing to  the  equality  of  ratios  or  the  similarity 
of  geometrical  figures. 

To  render  the  matter  clearer,  let  us  imagine 
a  score  of  persons  endowed  with  varying  de- 
grees of  auditory  sensibility — ranging  from 
extreme  acuteness  of  hearing  to  almost  total 
deafness.  A  musical  tone  will  make  the 
most  divergent  impressions  on  these  people ;  to 
some  it  will  sound  loud,  to  others  soft,  and  to 
others  still  it  will  be  just  barely  audible,  rang- 
ing through  all  degrees  of  intensity,  from  forte 
to  the  softest  pianissimo. l     Considered  ob- 

1  The  situation  is  complicated,  to  be  sure,  by  the  operation 
of  habit,  according  to  which  one  and  the  same  tone  may 
sound  relatively  as  loud  to  a  person  with  poor  hearing  as  to 
another  with  normal  faculties.  Since  our  hypothetical 
case  is  adduced  merely  for  the  sake  of  illustration,  however, 
we  may  neglect  this  aspect  and  confine  ourselves  to  the 
absolute  sensational  effect. 


i68  Homology  of 

jectively,  the  tone  is  the  same  for  all  persons, 
but  taken  in  connection  with  the  effects  pro- 
duced, it  is  different  in  every  case.  To  bring 
about  the  same  effect,  it  will  be  necessary 
to  vary  the  intensity,  in  accordance  with  the 
varying  states  of  auditory  sensibility.  On 
the  observer  these  mutations  will  make  the 
impression  of  twenty  different  tones,  on  the 
twenty  listeners  that  of  one  and  the  same  tone. 
Objective  similarity  and  permanence  mean 
subjective  difference,  while  subjective  sim- 
ilarity requires  objective  difference. 

The  same  will  be  true  of  diversities  of  pitch. 
It  is  a  fact  that  a  tone  will  in  abnormal  cases 
sound  somewhat  different  in  the  two  ears. 
Hypothetically  extending  this  and  applying 
it  to  the  ears  of  various  individuals,  we  may 
postulate  twenty  persons  with  auditory  or- 
gans so  unlike  that  a  single  tone  will  give 
rise  to  twenty  different  sounds, — separated 
in  their  extremes  by  several  octaves.  Here, 
also,  we  must  play  various  tones  in  order  to 
produce  similarity  of  effect,  suiting  them  to 
the  receptivities  of  the  respective  ears.  If  it 
be  desired,  for  instance,  to  produce  an  effect 
equivalent  to  middle  C,  it  will  be  necessary, 
in  the  case  of  a  person  who  hears  two  octaves 


Thought  and  Action  169 


o 


lower  than  we  do,  to  play  a  tone  two  octaves 
higher;  in  the  case  of  one  who  hears  higher, 
on  the  contrary,  to  play  correspondingly  low. 
Again  there  will  be  much  variety  of  effect, 
ranging  all  over  the  key-board,  yet  every 
tone  will  produce  the  same  impression  on  its 
respective  ear. 

If,  now,  we  were  to  combine  these  two 
sets  of  cases,  uniting  the  differences  of  loud- 
ness with  those  of  pitch,  we  should  already 
obtain  considerable  complication  of  phenom- 
ena. Let  it  be  desired,  for  example,  to  couple 
a  middle  C  with  a  mezzo  forte  effect.  We  shall 
be  obliged,  for  this  purpose,  to  combine  the 
variations  in  pitch  which  satisfy  the  twenty 
different  ears  with  similar  adjustments  in 
loudness.  The  person  who  hears  an  octave 
too  low  and  whose  hearing  is  feeble,  will  re- 
quire a  correspondingly  high,  fortissimo  tone. 
He,  on  the  contrary,  who  hears  too  high  and 
whose  ears  are  hyperaesthetic,  will  demand 
a  soft,  low  sound.  Both  conditions,  namely 
those  of  pitch  and  intensity,  must  be  satisfied 
before  the  proper  effect  is  produced.  The 
result  will  be  a  practically  unlimited  number 
of  possible  combinations,  all  varieties  of  pitch 
uniting    with  every  gradation  of    intensity. 


170  Homology  of 

So  numerous  will  be  the  possibilities,  that  a 
note  struck  at  random  will  but  rarely  satisfy 
both  conditions,  and  produce  the  requisite 
mezzo  forte,  middle  C  effect.  Even  if  we  in- 
crease the  number  of  imaginary  subjects  to 
two  hundred,  it  is  conceivable  that  every  indi- 
vidual will  require  a  different  combination  of 
pitch  and  intensity.  The  identical  subjective 
effect  will  accordingly  be  the  result  of  two 
hundred  different  tonal  phenomena. 

Objectively  it  will  not  be  easy  to  express 
the  identity  of  all  these  cases ;  if  we  write  down 
the  tones,  accompanied  by  their  shadings  of 
loudness,  we  simply  get  two  hundred  different 
results,  with  no  similarity  whatever.  If  we 
take  into  consideration  the  corresponding 
auditory  natures,  however,  the  identity  will 
readily  appear, — in  the  fixity  of  relation  be- 
tween the  tones  and  the  respective  thresh- 
olds of  pitch  and  intensity.  Starting  from 
the  barely  audible,  we  invariably  find  an  equal 
gap  between  this  first  degree  of  hearing  and 
the  loudness  of  the  tone  in  question;  again, 
there  is  a  similar  interval  between  the  thresh- 
old of  pitch — with  us  represented  by  sixteen 
vibrations  a  second — and  the  same  tone.  In 
all   cases  there  is  the  same  relation  to  the 


Thought  and  Action  171 

capacities  of  pitch  and  intensity.  These  latter 
form  a  parallelogram  of  forces,  as  it  were,  of 
which  the  respective  tones  are  the  resultants, 
and  in  the  relation  to  which  lie  their  con- 
stancy and  absoluteness. 

The  realm  of  art  offers  many  analogous 
features.  The  individual  works,  so  highly 
divergent  and  producing  such  manifold  im- 
pressions, may  be  compared  to  the  tones, — 
different  to  the  observer,  yet  similar  in  regard 
to  the  mental  capacities,  trainings,  and  asso- 
ciations of  the  people  to  whom  they  are 
addressed.  Works  of  art,  too,  may  be  inter- 
preted as  the  resultants  of  parallelograms 
of  forces, — or  say,  rather,  parallelograms  of 
mental  and  emotional  tendencies,  categories, 
and  demands;  like  our  mezzo  forte  middle  C, 
which  appears  under  disguises  so  great  as 
apparently  to  preclude  the  existence  of  any 
identity,  they  bear  the  same  relations  to  the 
enveloping  mental  matrix,  and  embody  the 
identical  proportions. 

We  cannot  hope  to  unravel  all  the  complex- 
ities besetting  this  subject,  but  we  can  indicate 
some  of  the  elements  entering  into  it.  Music, 
for  instance,  presents  several  aspects  closely 
resembling  those  of  our  hypothetic  example. 


172  Homology  of 

As  indicated,  orchestral  works  have  been 
growing  richer  in  volume  and  instrumenta- 
tion, so  that  compositions  which  originally 
sounded  exuberant  now  have  a  flavour  of 
insipidity.  The  change  in  effect  is  due  to  an 
alteration  in  our  aesthetic  sensibility;  it  cor- 
responds to  a  gradual  dulling  of  the  auditory 
acuteness,  in  accordance  with  which  a  tone 
which  at  first  sounded  forte  would  dwindle  to 
piano.  And  as  with  instrumental  volume, 
so  with  harmonic  complexity.  Harmony, 
likewise,  has  been  growing  more  luxuriant, 
and  many  of  the  chords  which  in  the  days  of 
Mozart  sounded  strikingly  weird  now  appear 
obvious,  while  combinations  whose  strange- 
ness would  have  shocked  our  forefathers  fill 
us  with  delight.  Here,  again,  the  effect  has 
been  determined  by  a  shifting  of  the  whole 
apperceptive  field,  and,  with  it,  of  the  aes- 
thetic point  of  novelty. 

The  tendency  toward  increasing  richness 
of  ornamentation,  characteristic  of  developing 
periods  of  architecture,  is  another  case  in 
point.  As  with  stimulants,  the  wealth  of 
decoration  which  at  first  produces  aesthetic 
excitement  soon  becomes  a  matter  of  course 
and  ceases  to  have  any  effect ;  as  a  result,  the 


Thought  and  Action  173 


'<=> 


richness  must  constantly  be  increased  in  order 
to  produce  the  same  impression.  The  va- 
rious degrees  of  ornamentation  may  appear 
widely  different  when  viewed  side  by  side, 
but  they  all  bear  the  same  relation  to  the 
previous,  accustomed  degrees,  embodying  a 
similar  increase  over  the  same;  they  all  occupy 
corresponding  positions  with  reference  to  the 
aesthetic  threshold  of  richness. 

Now,  as  there  are  thresholds  and  scales 
of  pitch,  intensity,  harmonic  colour,  and  deco- 
rative wealth,  so  there  are  analogous  series 
of  largeness,  smallness,  novelty,  originality, 
grotesqueness,  elegance,  and  numerous  other 
aesthetic  qualities.  The  feature  of  novelty, 
for  example, — very  important  in  all  branches 
of  art, — is  no  immutable  quality,  objectively 
speaking,  but  depends  entirely  on  the  nature 
of  the  preceding  art -works,  to  which  we  are 
accustomed.  The  familiar  may  be  considered 
as  the  plane  from  which  everything  new  and 
original  must  spring.  But  as  the  familiar  may 
change,  so  the  embodiment  of  novelty  must 
also  vary.  Objectively,  the  novel  will  assume 
the  greatest  multitude  of  forms,  but  there 
must  always  be  the  same  relation  between  it 
and  the  customary,  the  same  ratio  of  advance, 


174  Homology  of 

as  it  were,  always  a  certain  homology  in  re- 
gard to  the  works  to  which  we  are  habituated. 

Accompanying  the  threshold  of  novelty 
will  be  that  of  extravagance  and  grotesque- 
ness.  The  original  rises  degree  by  degree, 
until  finally  it  reaches  a  certain  maximum, 
at  which  it  passes  into  exaggeration.  Here, 
also,  there  must  be  laws:  the  grotesque  and 
extravagant  must  have  a  perfectly  definite 
relation  to  the  novel,  as  also  to  the  usual. 
But  again,  the  objective  embodiment  will 
depend  on  what  in  fact  is  new,  which  depends 
once  more  on  what  is  familiar ;  hence  the  diffi- 
culty of  formulating  adequate  definitions. 

The  same  principles  apply  to  the  histori- 
cally interesting,  quaint,  and  romantic.  The 
familiar  of  a  former  period,  having  fallen  into 
desuetude,  lies  fallow  for  a  considerable  time, 
when  suddenly  it  begins  to  acquire  a  fresh 
quality,  namely,  a  certain  quaintness  and 
romantic  flavour  imparted  by  temporal  dis- 
tance and  unfamiliarity.  This,  too,  is  no 
objectively  eternal  quality,  but  depends  on 
the  nature  of  the  preceding  phenomena  and 
the  intervening  length  of  time. 

One  of  the  best  applications  of  the  principle 
under  discussion  is  yielded  by  the  attributes 


Thought  and  Action  175 

of  size.  The  gigantic,  together  with  the  tiny 
and  petite,  play  an  important  part  in  works 
of  art,  especially  in  those  addressed  to  the 
eye.  Now  here  the  customary  may  be  re- 
garded as  the  threshold  of  both  the  immense 
and  the  little,  any  rise  above  the  same  mani- 
festing itself  as  large,  grand,  and  colossal,  and 
any  fall  below  as  small  and  diminutive.  The 
usual  may  be  likened  to  a  neutral,  mezzo  forte 
progression,  while  the  deviations  toward  either 
side  represent  the  fortissimos  and  piantssimos, 
as  they  stir  us  with  their  power  or  delight  us 
with  their  delicacy. 

In  this  case  we  have  a  comparatively  simple 
formula  for  aesthetic  effects.  Generally,  how- 
ever, the  impression  of  a  work  of  art  is  not 
confined  to  a  single  factor,  but  results  from 
a  combination  of  qualities.  Works  of  art  are 
veritable  tissues  of  relations  like  those  dwelt 
upon,  in  which  mental  and  emotional  cate- 
gories and  demands  are  interwoven  with  mar- 
vellous intricacy.  They  are  the  resultants  of 
parallelograms  of  forces;  but,  though  the  ele- 
ments entering  into  them  are  not  as  easily 
distinguishable  as  physical  energies,  their  op- 
eration must  be  equally  exact  and  uniform. 
Like  our  mezzo  forte  C's,  so  different  for  the 


176  Homology  of 

ears  of  the  listener,  they  must  embody  the 
same  relations  to  the  apperceiving  moulds. 

What  holds  in  the  realm  of  beauty  is  valid 
likewise  in  the  field  of  morality,  and  to  a  con- 
siderable extent  even  in  that  of  scientific  and 
philosophic  truth.  The  marked  divergence 
in  the  actions  and  beliefs  of  men  must  in  great 
measure  be  illusory,  being  the  mask  of  deeper 
agreement.  The  philosophical  and  religious 
systems  are  different,  to  a  considerable  de- 
gree, in  mere  externals.  In  the  facts  of  ho- 
mology, indeed,  lies  the  justification  of  that 
generosity  of  spirit  toward  which  the  centuries 
are  tending.  There  is  an  absolute  standard 
of  beauty,  truth,  and  morality,  to  be  sure,  any 
deviation  from  which  means  error,  ugliness, 
and  wrong;  but  that  standard  is  wide  enough 
to  include  the  greatest  divergences  of  belief, 
artistic  conception,  and  conduct;  it  refuses  to 
be  confined  within  any  mechanical  formula, 
but,  like  Proteus,  assumes  an  endless  variety 
of  forms.  The  atheist  and  the  believer,  the 
realist  and  the  idealist,  the  saint  and  the  revo- 
lutionary, may  all,  in  the  deeper  sense,  be  con- 
forming to  the  eternal  laws  of  truth,  beauty, 
and  morality.  In  the  insistence  on  a  nar- 
row, inflexible  form — in  the  worship  of   the 


Thought  and  Action  177 


line — lies  the  error  of  trie  artificial  classifica- 
tion of  conduct  which  has  been  the  prevailing 
method  of  all  times.  And  it  is  the  recognition 
of  the  triangle,  the  observance  of  homology, 
which  underlies  the  Emersonian  exaltation  of 
a  personal  standard  of  conduct, — the  insist- 
ence on  self-reliance,  heroism,  and  liberation 
from  traditional  fetters.  The  true  conduct 
consists  in  the  adjustment  of  the  line  to  the 
proportions  of  the  triangle;  but  since  the 
greater  part  of  the  triangle  is  written  in  sym- 
pathetic ink,  and  is  visible  only  to  the  individ- 
ual himself,  none  but  he  can  decide  on  the 
proper  course  of  behaviour. 

Having  considered  the  important  question 
as  to  the  reality  of  the  organisms  underlying 
beauty,  truth,  and  morality,  we  are  confronted 
with  the  further  problem  as  to  their  nature. 
The  organisms  exist — but  what  is  the  char- 
acter of  their  being,  the  stuff  of  which  they 
are  composed?  Are  they  merely  ideal  fabri- 
cations, similar  to  the  ratio  between  two 
numbers  or  the  laws  of  gravity,  is  there  mate- 
riality and  tangibility  only  in  the  direct  man- 
ifestations of  beauty  and  virtue,  or  do  they 
answer  to  perceptible  realities  ?  The  question 
is  urgent,  but  its  consideration  would  lead  us 


178  Homology  of  Thought  and  Action 

too  far  for  the  purposes  of  this  essay.  Suffice 
it  to  have  pointed  out  the  facts  of  homology 
as  they  exist:  their  meaning  furnishes  suffi- 
cient material  for  an  essay  by  itself. 


ON  TEMPORAL  EXPANSION  AND 
CONTRACTION 


179 


ON  TEMPORAL  EXPANSION  AND 
CONTRACTION 


SWIFT'S  Gulliver  is  a  classic,  in  the  deline- 
ation of  unusual  aspects  of  dimension. 
More  startling  still,  if  not  so  detailed,  are 
the  revelations  of  Professor  Crookes.1  He 
extends  the  enlargements  and  diminutions  of 
Swift,  and  shows  how  adequate  alterations 
in  the  size  of  the  observer  would  transform 
the  very  nature  and  essence  of  things.  A  being 
of  microscopic  dimensions,  for  example,  would 
not  come  to  the  conclusion  that  water  seeks 
its  level,  but  would  endow  it  with  spherical 
or  curvilinear  forms.  Suppose,  we  are  told, 
"that  he  holds  in  his  hand  a  vessel  bearing 
the  same  proportion  to  his  minimised  frame 
that  a  pint  measure  does  to  that  of  a  man  as 
he  is,  and  that  by  adroit  manipulation  he 

»  Proceedings  of  the  Society  for  Psychical  Research,  Ap- 
pendix to  Part  xxxi.,  vol.  xii.,  p.  344  et  seq. 

181 


1 82  On  Temporal 

contrives  to  fill  it  with  water.  If  he  inverts 
the  vessel  he  finds  that  the  liquid  will  not 
flow,  and  can  only  be  dislodged  by  violent 
shocks."  Similarly,  he  will  discover  that 
solids  as  a  rule  do  not  sink  in  water,  no  matter 
how  great  their  specific  gravity.  A  being 
of  enormous  magnitude  would  experience 
equally  interesting  results.     He  would  be 

able  to  move  finger  and  thumb  in  a  second's  space 
through  some  miles  of  soil.  .  .  .  The  mass  of  sand, 
earth,  stones,  and  the  like,  hurled  together  in  such 
quantities  and  at  such  speed,  would  become  intensely 
hot.  Just  as  the  homunculus  would  fail  to  bring 
about  ignition  when  he  desired,  so  the  colossus  could 
scarcely  move  without  causing  the  liberation  of  a 
highly  inconvenient  degree  of  heat,  literally  making 
everything  too  hot  to  hold.  He  would  naturally 
ascribe  to  granite  rocks  and  the  other  constituents 
of  the  earth's  surface  such  properties  as  we  attribute 
to  phosphorus — of  combustion  on  being  a  little 
roughly  handled.1 

Although  variations  in  spatial  dimension 

1  One  involuntarily  asks,  however:  what  is  the  texture  of 
the  hands  that  can,  without  mutilation,  pass  through  miles 
of  earth  and  rocks  in  the  short  period  of  a  second?  Un- 
doubtedly, they  would  be  composed  of  such  resisting  material 
that  a  high  degree  of  heat  would  leave  them  unaffected. 
Things  would  consequently  not  be  too  hot  to  hold;  in  other 
respects,  however,  the  comparison  with  phosphorus  may  be 
valid. 


Expansion  and  Contraction        183 

have  accordingly  been  discussed  with  con- 
siderable ingenuity,  alterations  in  time  have 
received  but  little  attention.  We  divide  time 
into  seconds,  minutes,  hours,  days,  and  years. 
To  most  of  us  these  periods  undoubtedly 
appear  absolute,  one  creature's  unit  of  sensa- 
tion being  the  unit  of  all  other  beings  likewise. 
Yet  why  should  this  be  so?  Why  should  a 
second  occupy  just  that  length  of  time  which 
is  approximately  covered  by  a  beat  of  the 
heart?  Why  might  not  one  creature's  second 
be  another's  minute  and  still  another's  hour 
or  day;  why  might  not  its  minute,  hour,  or  day 
correspond  to  another's  second?  Does  it  not 
seem  likely,  for  instance,  that  insects,  physi- 
cally so  much  smaller  than  we,  should  divide 
time  more  minutely,  perceiving  dozens  of 
movements  or  happenings  where  we  only 
perceive  a  few?  Extending  the  supposition, 
may  we  not  conceive  of  beings  with  a  present 
moment,  or  temporal  perception-door,  many 
thousand  or  million  times  smaller  than  our 
own,  thus  enabling  them  to  go  through  a 
whole  lifetime  in  the  short  space  of  a  day  or 
an  hour?  If  a  creature  had  a  second  as  long 
as  a  vibration  of  violet  light  (violet  light  mak- 
ing   750,000,000,000,000   vibrations  per  sec- 


184  On  Temporal 

ond),  one  of  our  own  minutes  would  seem  to 
it  to  cover  a  period  of  one  and  a  half  billion 
years.  On  the  other  hand,  a  being  might 
have  a  temporal  sweep  so  august  that  an  seon 
were  but  as  a  moment  of  time.  He  would 
perceive  at  a  stroke  things  separated  by  cen- 
turies; he  would  be  viewing  the  battle  of 
Thermopylae,  when  lo!  before  the  moment 
was  ended  he  would  witness  the  Declaration 
of  Independence! 

Such  differences  in  "time-span"  would  not 
only  change  the  tempo  of  movements  and 
events,  but,  like  the  radical  alterations  of 
Crookes,  would  also  exercise  an  entire  trans- 
formation over  nature.  Even  in  our  limited 
experience  we  may  realise  this.  A  firebrand, 
slowly  revolved,  is  simply  an  incandescent 
body,  successively  appearing  in  conjunction 
with  various  objects;  whirled  about  rapidly, 
and  thus  producing  the  effect  of  an  alteration 
of  span,  it  comes  to  view  as  a  fiery  circle.  Two 
electric  sparks,  succeeding  each  other  at  appre- 
ciable intervals,  make  the  impression  of  dis- 
continuous, luminous  points;  following  each 
other  more  closely,  and  within  a  limited  dis- 
tance, they  are  transformed  into  a  streak  of 
light  shooting  from  one  terminus  to  the  other. 


Expansion  and  Contraction        185 

Puffs  of  air  at  the  rate  of  but  a  few  a  second 
are  mere  isolated  shocks  ;  increased  to  the 
rate  of  sixteen  they  undergo  an  entire  meta- 
morphosis, and  sound  is  born. 

11 

The  embryologist  v.  Baer  has  written  an 
admirable  essay  on  this  subject.1  A  creature 
with  a  second  one  thousand  times  as  short  as 
our  own,  he  says,  would  be  able  to  perceive 
with  ease  the  passage  of  a  bullet.  His  life 
would  probably  not  cover  a  month  of  time; 
and  if  he  were  born  at  new  moon,  the  waning 
of  our  satellite,  whose  slow  variations  in  size 
he  would  have  followed  with  interest  through- 
out his  lifetime,  would  impress  him  as  a 
process  which  must  end  with  its  final  disap- 
pearance and  extinction.  Tradition  or  history 
would  be  the  only  source  from  which  he  could 
derive  information  regarding  the  change  of 
seasons.  Were  he  living  in  summer,  he  would 
read  about  winter  with  the  same  astonishment 
with  which  we  now  learn  about  the  glacial 
epoch. 

If  the  time-scale  of  this  creature  were  again 

1  Reden,  Braunschweig,  1S86,  vol.  i.,  p.  237  et  seq. 


1 86  On  Temporal 

reduced  a  thousandfold,  that  is,  if  one  of  our 
own  seconds  were  equivalent  to  a  million,  in- 
stead of  a  thousand,  of  his,  the  modifications 
of  external  nature  would  be  even  more  start- 
ling. The  being  with  this  minute  temporal 
span  would  live  only  about  forty  minutes. 
He  would  be  unable  to  perceive  the  slow 
growth  of  grass  and  flowers,  nor  would  he 
have  any  idea  of  the  alternation  of  day  and 
night.  Animals  would  come  to  view  as  fixed 
and  unchangeable  objects  and  would  fail  to 
impress  him  as  living  beings.  Their  move- 
ments, too  slow  for  direct  perception,  could 
at  most  be  inferred,  as  the  movements  of  the 
celestial  bodies  are  now  deduced  by  us.  Our 
tones  would  be  inaudible.  Nevertheless,  other 
oscillations  might  be  at  hand  fulfilling  the 
office  of  sound-vibrations;  indeed,  if  the 
span  were  still  further  reduced,  so  that  our 
own  light-vibrations  rained  in  upon  him  with 
the  relative  frequency  of  sound-waves,  he- 
might  even  hear  the  light ! 

Totally  opposed  to  this  would  be  the  world- 
view  produced  by  a  lengthening  of  the  span. 
The  life  of  a  being  with  temporal  glasses  a 
thousand  times  as  large  as  ours  would  have 
to  cover  eighty  thousand  years  in  order  to 


Expansion  and  Contraction       187 

correspond  to  the  eighty  summers  of  our  own 
existence.  A  year  would  pass  by  in  eight  and 
three-quarters  hours.  Such  a  being  could 
directly  see  the  growth  of  plants.  Day  and 
night  would  succeed  each  other  approximately 
as  bright  and  dark  minutes.  The  sun  would 
not  be  stationary,  but  would  sweep  through 
the  sky  in  a  minute  of  time,  followed  by  a 
fiery  trail,  like  a  shooting  star. 

If,  now,  this  slackened  life  were  still  further 
retarded  a  thousandfold,  i.e.,  if  the  span  were 
a  million  times  as  large  as  our  own,  the  effect 
would  again  be  momentous.  By  reason  of 
the  after-images  in  the  eye,  we  should  not  have 
any  experience  of  night :  before  darkness  could 
prevail  daylight  would  again  overtake  it.  For 
the  same  reason  we  should  not  be  able  to 
recognise  the  sun  as  a  globular  body,  but, 
on  the  analogy  of  the  revolving  firebrand, 
should  perceive  instead  a  brilliant,  fiery  arch 
in  the  heavens.  The  seasons  would  fly  past 
with  astonishing  rapidity.  A  year  would  be 
over  in  half  a  minute.  As  we  before  directly 
perceived  the  growth  of  vegetables,  so  we 
should  now  become  aware  of  the  change  of 
seasons.  The  decay  of  vegetation,  the  freez- 
ing of  waters,  their  thawing  in  the  spring,  and 


1 88  On  Temporal 

the  succeeding  growth  of  plants  and  trees, — 
all  would  pass  before  our  eyes  as  directly 
observable  motions  and  fluctuations. 

in 

Remarkable  though  these  statements  are, 
even  v.  Baer  has  not  done  full  justice  to  the 
subject.  A  consideration  of  vibrations,  to 
which  he  but  incidentally  refers,  is  capable 
of  yielding  further  revelations  of  a  startling 
character.  Since  the  qualities  of  light,  heat, 
and  sound  depend  on  vibrations  in  the  ether 
and  air,  alterations  of  time-span,  by  changing 
the  relative  frequency  of  these  vibrations, 
will  affect  the  qualities  of  sensation.  A  short- 
ening of  the  span,  for  instance,  being  synony- 
mous with  a  lessening  of  the  frequency,  will 
cause  high  tones  to  sound  low.  A  lengthen- 
ing, which  allows  more  oscillations  to  be 
crowded  into  a  given  length  of  time,  will 
make  low  ones  sound  high.  Some  of  the  con- 
sequences might  be  rather  humorous.  An 
extension  of  span,  for  example,  would  show  us 
the  proposing  lover  on  his  knees,  uttering 
supplications  in  a  mellow  soprano,  while  the 
maiden  of  his  choice  would  answer  in  thin, 
piping,  birdlike  chirps.     The  converse  would 


Expansion  and  Contraction        189 

exhibit  him  opening  his  mouth  and  gesticu- 
lating, as  if  for  speech,  but  without  giving 
vent  to  a  sound;  for  the  vibration-rapidity 
of  his  tones  would  have  dropped  below  the 
sixteen-per-second  limit  of  sound,  and  his 
words  would  fail  to  reach  our  ears.  The 
maiden,  on  the  other  hand,  would  declare 
her  willingness  in  rich  basso  prof  undo  accents. 

Similar  changes,  though  perhaps  without 
the  humorous  element,  would  occur  within 
the  realm  of  light  and  colour.  If  the  time- 
span  were  modified  so  that  the  vibrations 
of  violet  or  blue  light  streamed  in  upon  the 
mind  with  the  same  relative  frequency  as 
those  of  red  or  orange,  white  and  bluish 
objects  would  appear  yellow  or  red,  while 
yellow  and  red  ones  would  turn  into  black. 
What  a  wonderful  transformation  this  would 
effect  in  the  aspect  of  the  world!  The  blue 
sky  and  the  white  snow  might  assume  a 
bright  vermilion  hue,  while  the  evening  hori- 
zon would  evince  its  sorrow  for  the  departing 
day  by  a  band  of  black. 

Greater  alterations  would  probably  re- 
sult in  more  remarkable  manifestations.  A 
change  of  span  which  brought  the  Roentgen 
rays  within  the  spectrum  would  enable  us  to 


190  On  Temporal 

see  with  X-ray  eyes:  a  considerable  number 
of  the  objects  and  materials  with  which  we 
are  surrounded  would  become  transparent, 
and  human  beings  would  appear  as  skeletons, 
imbedded  in  a  translucent,  jellylike  mass! 
And  if  the  supposition  which  Professor 
Crookes  has  hypothetically  ventured  is  true, 
i.e.,  if  rays  of  a  still  greater  rate  of  vibration 
exist,  and  if  these  are  the  medium  of  thought- 
transference, — a  proper  change  might  enable 
us  to  perceive  one  another's  thoughts,  from 
their  physical  side,  just  as  we  now  perceive 
material  objects. 

Returning  to  the  realm  of  sound,  we  should 
find  a  prolongation  of  the  span  bringing  vibra- 
tions separated  by  seconds,  or  even  minutes 
and  hours,  within  the  realm  of  audibility, 
while  those  between  16  and  40,000  would 
cease  to  affect  our  ears.  The  song  of  birds 
would  become  inaudible, — a  serious  loss,  for 
which,  however,  we  might  reap  certain  com- 
pensations. The  oscillation  of  the  tree-tops 
would  produce  sounds  of  a  musical  nature. 
What  a  magnificent  hymn  the  forest,  gently 
moved  by  a  breeze  or  fiercely  lashed  by  a 
storm,  would  in  that  case  send  up  to  the  stars 
on  high!     The  waves  of  the  ocean,  likewise, 


Expansion  and  Contraction       191 

might  breathe  out  their  spirit  toward  the 
skies  in  a  mighty,  inspiring  ground-bass.  The 
pendulum  of  the  clock — to  choose  a  humbler 
example — would  give  forth  a  pretty  drone, 
the  children's  swing  in  the  yard  accompanying 
it  an  octave  lower.  In  general,  there  would 
be  an  extensive  shifting  of  qualities  as  related 
to  the  objects  perceived:  some  objects  would 
lose  certain  qualities,  only  to  gain  others; 
some  would  pass  out  of  existence,  new  ones 
spring  into  being.  What  was  audible  might 
become  dumb,  what  was  inaudible  vent  itself 
in  sound;  coloured  materials  would  alter 
their  hues,  invisible  ones  flash  into  existence. 


IV 


Reverting  to  the  illustrations  of  v.  Baer, 
we  note  that  the  sun — which  impresses  us 
as  a  stationary  body,  with  only  an  inferential 
but  no  directly  visible  motion  — would  under 
certain  conditions  appear  as  a  moving  body 
sweeping  across  the  sky  in  a  minute's  time, 
and  under  others  as  an  incandescent  arch, 
bridging  over  the  entire  firmament  like  a  rain- 
bow. We  thus  have  a  threefold  aspect':  a 
stationary  globe,  a  moving  globe  (with  a  fiery 


192  On  Temporal 

trail),  and  a  stationary  arch.  Now  this  alter- 
ation of  appearance  would,  of  course,  not  be 
confined  to  the  sun.  Similar  changes  would 
ensue  throughout  the  realm  of  nature,  as  the 
result  of  the  same  laws  operative  in  the  case 
of  the  sun.  Old  connections  between  objects 
would  be  obliterated,  new  ones  established. 
Motion  would  arise  where  formerly  there  had 
been  rest,  fixity  replace  former  motion.  The 
result  would  be  an  entire  transformation  of 
nature.  Animals,  as  mentioned,  might  fail 
to  be  perceived  as  living  beings:  in  the  one 
case  they  would  move  about  so  rapidly  and 
irregularly  as  not  to  be  noticed,  in  the  other 
their  motions  would  be  too  slow  for  detection. 
The  stars,  again,  might  form  constellations 
and  figures  which,  on  account  of  their  rapid- 
ity of  motion  and  the  resulting  after-images, 
would  not  be  bounded  by  points,  but  rather 
by  lines;  the  firmament  would  present  the 
aspect  of  a  shifting  series  of  fiery  rills  and 
streams;  instead  of  an  expansive  bosom,  stud- 
ded with  scintillating  gems,  it  would  exhibit 
a  brilliant  shower  of  incandescent  jets  and 
sprays. 

Further  changes  in  the  appearance  of  the 
world  would  arise  from  the  fact  that  simul- 


Expansion  and  Contraction       19 


taneous  things  might  impress  a  smaller  time- 
span  as  successive,  while  successive  ones  would 
appear  simultaneous  to  a  larger  view.  If  we 
slowly  rotate  a  card-board  upon  which  two 
series  of  lines,  forming  broken  circles,  are  so 
arranged  that  a  member  of  the  inner  circle 
regularly  alternates  with  one  of  the  outer, 
what  we  perceive  is  first  one  little  line  and 
then  another;  upon  rotating  it  more  rapidly, 
however,  this  aspect  changes,  and  we  perceive, 
instead,  two  continuous,  parallel  bands.  It 
is  evident,  therefore,  that  what  is  successive 
at  one  rate  of  perception  may  be  simultaneous 
at  another.  Accordingly,  natural  phenomena 
separated  by  hours,  days,  and  years  might, 
under  the  proper  conditions,  arrange  them- 
selves into  harmonious  union,  coming  to  view 
as  complementary  elements  of  single,  unified 
totals.  Simultaneous  aspects  of  the  world, 
on  the  contrary,  might  be  strung  out  into 
series  of  temporal  sequence.  The  musical 
tone  would  resolve  itself  into  a  succession  of 
vibrations.  The  flash  of  lightning  and  the 
peal  of  thunder,  the  jet  of  steam  from  the  loco- 
motive and  the  shrill  whistle,  would  make  the 
impression  of  disparate,  quasi  independent 
events,  the  one  occurring  hours  or  days  after 


13 


194  On  Temporal 

the  other ;  close  observation  alone  would  reveal 
the  connection  between  them,  in  a  sequence 
of  remote  cause  and  effect. 

If,  now,  we  combined  the  wonderful  trans- 
formations due  to  alterations  in  the  time-scale 
with  similar  ones  resting  on  changes  in  space, 
— that  is,  if  we  coupled  the  fantastic  meta- 
morphoses of  nature  sketched  in  the  preceding 
pages  with  metamorphoses  like  those  indi- 
cated by  Professor  Crookes, — we  should  obtain 
a  still  more  baffling  result.  Yet  all  these 
changes  would  be  the  outcome  of  simple  varia- 
tions in  temporal  and  spatial  dimension, — 
variations  in  the  size  of  the  perceiving  indi- 
vidual and  in  the  amount  of  time  he  can 
encompass  at  a  stroke.  If,  in  addition,  we 
were  to  invoke  the  assistance  of  faculties 
which  he  does  not  possess,  if  we  were  to  lend 
him  powers  far  higher  and  finer  than  our  own, 
the  metamorphoses  might  be  so  radical  that 
every  vestige  of  resemblance  to  our  present 
universe  would  vanish,  and  we  should  verita- 
bly pass  into  a  different  realm  of  being. 

It  is  evident,  then,  that  the  aspect  of  the 
world  depends  in  great  measure  on  the  mental 
constitution  of  the  observer,  and  we  realise 
what  the  philosophers  mean  when  they  say 


Expansion  and  Contraction       195 

that  matter  is  a  product  of  mind.  One  qual- 
ity after  another  of  material  nature  is  shelled 
off  as  ideal  in  character,  until  finally  the  con- 
clusion begins  to  dawn  on  us  that  the  universe, 
like  an  onion,  has  no  material  core  at  all,  but 
consists  entirely  of  shells. 


For,  what  we  call  this  life  of  men  on  earth, 
This  sequence  of  the  soul's  achievements  here, 
Being,  as  I  find  much  reason  to  conceive, 
Intended  to  be  viewed  eventually 
As  a  great  whole,  not  analysed  to  parts, 
But  each  part  having  reference  to  all. 

Browning,  Cleon. 

Thus  far  we  have  confined  ourselves  to  the 
physical  universe.  But  the  mental  world — 
of  thought,  desire,  and  emotion — must  also 
pass  through  the  temporal  lenses  with  which 
we  are  endowed  before  it  can  be  experienced. 
The  question  then  arises:  what  would  be  the 
aspect  of  this  world  if  taken  up  by  minds  of 
different  span?  This  inquiry  is  valuable,  not 
merely  for  its  own  direct  results,  but  also  by 
reason  of  its  bearing  on  related  questions. 
It  is  not  a  novel  theory  that  one  and  the  same 
body  of  experiences  may  serve  as  the  basis  of 


196  On  Temporal 

various  lives.  Fechner  makes  a  good  deal 
of  this  view.  The  opinion,  especially,  that 
our  life  is  included  in  that  of  God,  has  found 
wide  acceptance.  Now,  as  Professor  Royce 
has  indicated,  the  time-span  of  other  forms 
of  consciousness  may  differ  widely  from  our 
own;  whence  the  corollary  that,  if  our  experi- 
ence were  shared  by  other  beings,  it  might 
undergo  extensive  modifications  in  accord- 
ance with  the  perceiving  span.  If,  then,  we 
should  find  our  life  frequently  falling  into 
rational  and  well-ordered  experiences,  under 
different  temporal  conditions,  there  would 
be  a  presumption  in  favour  of  the  reality  of 
those  conditions. 

Let  us  emphasise,  once  more,  that  the 
sequences  or  collocations  of  one  span  may, 
in  fact,  have  perfectly  definite  collocations 
answering  to  them  under  others.  The  slowly 
revolving  firebrand  corresponds  to  the  lumi- 
nous circle  of  a  faster  revolution,  the  succes- 
sion of  vibrations  to  the  continuous  tone.  In 
some  instances,  like  the  latter,  the  phenomena 
resulting  under  the  various  conditions,  though 
heterogeneous,  may  still  be  definite  and  reg- 
ular; in  others,  the  significance  and  order 
of  one  rate  of   succession  would  very  likely 


Expansion  and  Contraction       197 

be  the  result  of  irregularity  and  seeming  ir- 
rationality elsewhere.  Accordingly,  many 
meaningless,  perverse,  and  problematical  as- 
pects of  our  own  life  may  likewise  fall  into 
rational  configurations  when  seen  with  differ- 
ent spans;  so  that,  while  engrossed  in  the  ob- 
scure duties  of  everyday  existence,  we  may 
veritably  be  tracing  the  vibrations  that  im- 
press higher  ears  as  entrancing  tones. 

Daily,  with  souls  that  cringe  and  plot, 
We  Sinais  climb  and  know  it  not. 

The  experience  of  the  individual,  by  himself, 
may  be  the  basis  of  the  temporally  modified 
views,  or  it  may  require  supplementation  in 
that  of  other  persons ;  in  this  case  the  individ- 
ual's life  would  answer  to  a  single  tone,  fig- 
uratively speaking,  the  other  individuals 
furnishing  the  companion-tones  that  produce 
melodies  and  harmonies. 

VI 

The  question  now  arises:  what  would  be 
the  actual  aspect  of  our  experiences,  when 
seen  through  the  perception-windows  of  dif- 
ferent spans?  More  especially,  since  the 
analysis  of  our  thoughts  and  feelings  into  the 


i9s  On  Temporal 

elements  of  smaller  spans  appears  well-nigh 
hopeless,  how  would  they  impress  a  larger 
view?  In  the  first  place,  many  details  would 
drop  out  of  the  picture.  The  position  as- 
sumed in  a  chair  yesterday  morning,  the 
revery  into  which  we  fell  after  dinner,  the 
casual  words  spoken  to  a  friend  on  the  street, 
— all  would  be  lost  in  the  larger  outlines  of  the 
scene.  Instead,  there  would  be  streams  of 
tendency,  movements  to  and  fro,  waxings  and 
wanings,  upwellings  and  subsidences.  As 
the  electric  sparks,  when  seen  in  rapid  succes- 
sion, give  way  to  a  streak  of  light  shooting 
from  end  to  end,  so  our  isolated  actions  and 
emotions  might  coalesce  into  directly  per- 
ceptible connecting-links. *  The  single  beads 
of  experience  would  appear  as  members  of 
regularly  arranged  chains  or  figures.  The  suc- 
cessive steps  by  which  a  man  climbs  to  a  posi- 
tion of  social  eminence,  for  example,  might 
flow  into  a  continuous  movement.  The  evil 
deed  and  its  remote  punishment — without 
connection  for  our  myopic  eyes — would  be 
revealed  as  elements  of  a  single  process. 

1  This  would  not  necessarily  exclude  the  existence  of 
stable,  immutable  aspects  of  experience.  But  many  of  the 
aspects  which  now  are  stable  would  no  longer  remain  so. 


Expansion  and  Contraction       199 

As  in  the  physical  examples,  much  that 
now  is  successive  in  nature  would  appear 
simultaneous.  Some  of  the  results,  perhaps, 
would  resemble  those  obtained  by  rapidly 
revolving  a  disk  which  is  covered  with  various 
colours,  the  separate  experiences  uniting  in 
single  conscious  facts  of  magnified  depth  and 
richness.  Or  they  might  resemble  the  paral- 
lel bands  obtained  from  the  little  lines,  form- 
ing disparate  and  side-by-side  elements  of  a 
larger  totality.  Among  the  coalescing  experi- 
ences there  would  probably  be  those  regular, 
almost  rhythmical  successions  of  emotions 
and  situations  which  characterise  our  life. 
Cursorily,  experience  seems  to  embody  a  con- 
stant change,  with  new  circumstances  and 
feelings  at  every  turn.  Closer  observation, 
however,  reveals  a  perpetual  recurrence  of 
similar  types  of  action  and  emotion.  Start- 
ing from  the  station  of  a  poor  newsboy,  for 
example,  a  man  climbs  to  the  position  of  a 
millionaire  and  king  of  finance.  In  one  respect 
every  successive  step  is  different  from  those 
which  have  gone  before,  in  another  all  are  alike. 
There  is  always  the  same  relative  advance  over 
preceding  conditions,  always  the  same  eager 
desire  and  strife,  always  the  same  satisfaction 


200  On  Temporal 

of  attainment.  The  initial  steps,  marked  by 
slight  increases  in  salary  or  advancements  of 
position,  are  relatively  as  important  as  the 
great  dividends  or  financial  conquests  of  later 
years.  They  are  as  eagerly  anticipated  and  as 
joyously  felt.  The  various  advancing  steps, 
in  short,  are  "  homologous."  The  man's  career 
might  be  compared  to  a  pyramid,  spreading 
out,  from  the  apex,  in  wider  and  wider  sweeps, 
the  degrees  of  betterment  corresponding  to 
the  successive  sections,  and  the  homology 
finding  its  counterpart  in  their  geometrical 
similarity.  This  homology  is  realised  in  a 
conceptual  manner;  through  the  agency  of  a 
larger  span,  however,  it  might  appear  directly. 
The  broader  view  might  behold  the  phases  of 
our  life  as  they  are  unified  into  single  figures  or 
plans.  Like  a  magician  who,  with  one  thrust, 
runs  his  sword  through  a  multitude  of  cards, 
it  would  gather  groups  of  successive  experi- 
ences on  a  single  thrust  of  perception.  To 
turn  the  matter  about,  we  might  imagine  a 
microscopic  being,  with  contracted  outlook, 
spending  its  whole  life  crawling  down  a  pyra- 
mid,— beginning  at  the  apex  and  circling 
about  the  sections  in  a  gently  descending  path ; 
looking  over  its  experience,   then,   it  would 


Expansion  and  Contraction       201 

realise  a  certain  regularly  recurrent  aspect, 
which  would  finally  lead  to  the  recognition — 
vague  and  conceptual — of  a  single  process  or 
plan.  We,  too,  may  be  microscopic  beings 
with  reference  to  a  higher  span,  our  "homolo- 
gous" situations  corresponding  to  the  pyra- 
midal sections,  and  the  hypothetical  collective 
view  to  the  perception  of  the  pyramid  as  a 
whole. 


VII 

A  larger  temporal  view  may  throw  some 
light  on  the  goal  or  meaning  of  existence.  It 
is  a  paradoxical  feature  of  our  life  that  we  are 
compelled,  by  an  inner  propulsion,  to  push 
forward  and  strive  for  the  realisation  of  new 
ends,  although,  so  far  as  we  can  see,  we  shall 
be  no  better  off  for  their  attainment.  Ath- 
letic distinction,  love,  wealth,  influence,  hon- 
our, fame, — all  court  our  endeavours,  without, 
however,  granting  us  that  great  end,  that 
highest  good,  toward  which  we  were  suppos- 
edly moving.  Our  efforts  at  attainment  are 
as  fruitless  as  the  endeavour  to  catch  up  with 
the  horizon.  The  supreme  good  always  re- 
mains off  in  the  distance,— indeed,  we  were 


202  On  Temporal 

as  near  it  in  our  youth  as  we  are  in  old  age. 
There  is  no  temporal  end  to  our  efforts,  no 
final,  definitive  satisfaction  of  the  will.  The 
good  lies  all  along  the  way,  and  seems  to  en- 
compass us  from  above  rather  than  to  draw 
us  along  from  ahead.  Yet  we  cannot  cease 
striving  and  desiring.  The  plausible  conclu- 
sion that  since  the  later  stages  are  no  better 
than  the  former  it  is  folly  to  strive  at  all,  and 
wisdom  to  remain  as  we  are,  is  not  tolerated 
by  our  deeper  nature.  We  may  have  been 
as  happy  playing  marbles  as  in  our  present 
engagements,  but  would  hardly  care  to  go 
back  to  the  boyish  time  again.  One  may 
not  have  gained  in  essential  well-being 
through  marriage,  but,  if  single,  would 
doubtless  be  driven  again  toward  matri- 
mony. Our  youthful  illusions  about  the 
satisfaction  flowing  from  achievement,  great- 
ness, and  fame  may  have  been  dispelled, 
yet  we  cannot  rest  idle,  and,  though  we 
know  not  what  the  positive  gain  of  our 
work  will  be,  or  whether  there  will  be  a 
gain  at  all,  we  are  urged  forward  by  an 
inner  force  which  insists  on  aspiration,  move- 
ment, and  progress. 

We  are  thus  in  the  position  of  striving  after 


Expansion  and  Contraction       203 

an  end  of  which  we  fail  to  know  the  value,  of 
persisting  in  an  apparently  meaningless  game, 
and,  as  rational  beings,  we  endeavour  to 
unravel  the  significance  of  our  paradoxical 
situation.  Now,  in  melody  we  have  a  beauti- 
ful example  of  a  value  which  is  the  result  of 
just  such  ever-recurring  strife  and  endeav- 
our, without  approach  to  a  final  goal  of  satis- 
faction. Melody,  like  life,  consists  of  an 
alternating  series  of  satisfactions  and  dissat- 
isfactions, tonic  yielding  to  non-tonic  har- 
monies, and  these  again  preparing  for  the 
first.  Likewise,  there  is  no  final  goal,  afford- 
ing permanent,  definitive  rest.1  It  is  often 
difficult,  almost  impossible,  to  determine 
which  parts  of  a  melody  are  the  most  beau- 
tiful :  the  fourth  measure  is  just  as  pleasing  as 
the  sixth,  the  tenth  no  more  so  than  the 
fourth.  Nevertheless,  though  no  part  is 
markedly  superior  to  any  other,  it  would  be 
folly  to  rest  satisfied  with  the  present  notes, 
without  moving  on  to  the  next ;  the  value  of 
each  measure,  and  of  the  whole,  lies  in  the 
motion,  in  the  passage  from  part  to  part,  and 
would  be  transformed  into  monotony  if  the 

1  The  concluding  cadence   does  not  fulfil  this  condition, 
for  with  it  the  music  ceases  altogether. 


204  On  Temporal 

movement  were  suddenly  suspended.  No 
measure  is  effective  solely  by  itself,  but  only 
through  its  connection  with  the  surrounding 
bars, — as  the  result  of  the  preceding  notes 
and  the  anticipation  of  those  which  are  to 
come;  remove  this  milieu,  and  the  tones  be- 
come meaningless. 

The  analogy  is  striking:  life  is  a  magnified 
melody,  and  melody  is  a  miniature  life.  Only 
in  one  respect  is  it  incomplete:  in  the  case  of 
the  melody  there  is  a  listener  who  appreciates 
its  beauty,  whereas  in  life  we  apparently  have 
only  the  individual  notes.  But  does  not  this 
unfilled  gap  suggest  the  reality  of  some  grand, 
superhuman,  listening  ear,  which  likewise 
appreciates  the  meaning  and  value,  of  our 
existence?  Without  its  presence,  indeed,  the 
whole  explanation  collapses;  to  strive  for 
the  accomplishment  of  some  purpose  which 
shall  be  realised  by  nobody,  is  just  as 
irrational  as  to  strive  blindly,  with  no 
purpose  at  all.  Here,  then,  we  have  a 
case  where  the  realisation  of  a  rational 
and  harmonious  result,  through  our  hypo- 
thetical alterations,  indicates  the  existence 
of  a  perceiving  mind  for  which  the  result 
has  been   achieved. 


Expansion  and  Contraction        205 

VIII 

We  have  frequently  invoked  the  assistance 
of  musical  analogies.  They  are  valuable 
aids  in  considerations  of  a  broad  ethical  and 
metaphysical  nature.  Most  of  the  deeper 
arguments  which  seek  to  account  for  the  evil 
in  the  world  are  reducible  to  the  simile  of  the 
discord:  as  dissonance  increases  total  con- 
sonance, so  pain  and  evil  enhance  pleasure 
and  good.  But  the  comparisons  may  be  ex- 
tended much  further.  Let  us  devote  a  few 
words  to  the  subject  of  musical  overtones 
and  the  vibrations  on  which  they  rest.  A 
single  tone  on  the  piano  contains  some  half  a 
dozen  higher  tones  or  partials ;  a  chord  of  eight 
notes,  then,  is  accompanied  by  about  fifty 
secondary  tones,  some  coinciding  with  each 
other,  some  disagreeing.  Besides,  there  are 
the  combinational  tones  produced  by  each  pair 
of  principal  ones,  which  would  add  between 
fifty  and  sixty  further  members.  But  the 
partials  also  unite  to  produce  combinational 
tones;  as  a  result,  we  have  a  total  of  several 
thousand  elements,  without  counting  the 
infinite  combinations  which  would  again 
spring  from  a  union  between  the  various  dif- 


206  On  Temporal 

ferential  and  summational  tones.  All  this 
would  be  the  product  of  a  simple  chord  of 
eight  members.  Now  imagine  an  orchestra  of 
eighty  pieces  performing  a  symphony  by 
Tschaikowsky,  with  its  myriad  notes,  its  con- 
trapuntal and  thematic  intricacies,  harmonic 
beauties,  and  instrumental  contrasts :  the  mind 
is  baffled  when  it  attempts  to  picture  the 
realm  of  secondary  tones  called  into  being  by 
such  a  work.  What  a  chaos  of  interrelations, 
what  fragmentary  agreements,  what  para- 
doxical disagreements,  what  struggle  and 
friction  and  strife!  When  we  leave  the 
realm  of  sound  and  pass  into  that  of  vibration, 
the  picture  grows  still  more  perplexing.  The 
atmosphere  of  the  concert-hall,  agitated  by 
all  these  crossing  and  recrossing  impulsions, 
is  a  veritable  macrocosm,  rivalling  in  complex- 
ity the  more  tangible  system  of  material 
nature.  What  philosopher,  examining  the  at- 
mospheric waves,  could  explain  the  apparent 
anomalies,  giving  the  reason  and  governing 
principles  of  the  chaotic  interplay  of  elements? 
Yet  deep  down  in  the  region  of  the  fundamen- 
tal tones  are  the  laws  of  thorough  bass  and 
melodic  beauty  which  firmly  guide  the  course 
of  it  all,  the  explanation  of  all  the  seeming 


Expansion  and  Contraction       207 

irrationality  and  disorder.  The  conclusion  is 
forcibly  impressed  on  the  mind  that  we  also 
may  be  living  in  a  region  of  overtones,  and 
that  we  are  subserving  deep  laws  of  purpose 
and  beauty  by  our  faltering  endeavours. 

Modern  music  is  based  on  the  tempered 
scale.  Accordingly,  the  chromatic  series  of 
notes  includes  twelve  tones  within  the  space 
of  an  octave,  represented  by  the  seven  white 
and  five  black  keys  of  the  piano.  In  strict 
accuracy  there  ought  to  be  several  dozen  of 
them  with  separate  keys  for  all  the  sharps, 
flats,  and  double-accidentals.  F#  is  not  ex- 
actly the  same  in  pitch  as  Gb,  C##  not  the 
same  as  D.  The  differences  are  so  minute, 
however,  that  they  have  been  disregarded: 
some  intervals  have  been  slightly  raised, 
others  lowered,  the  result  being  that  we  can 
pass  upwards  or  downwards  and  make  unre- 
stricted use  of  accidentals,  without  anywhere 
receiving  a  noticeable  shock  of  faulty  into- 
nation. Only  a  trained  ear  will  be  offended 
by  the  deviations  from  absolute  perfection 
of  the  intervals  of  the  tempered  scale.  The 
advantages  are  obvious.  If  it  is  difficult 
enough  to  master  the  technique  of  the  piano 
and  organ   as   they  are,  how    immeasurably 


208  On  Temporal 

more  difficult  would  it  be  if  there  were  such 
a  number  of  keys  to  the  octave.  Slight  im- 
perfections, then,  have  been  introduced  for 
the  sake  of  larger  advantages.  But  the  im- 
perfections are  only  slight  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  human  listener,  who  appreciates 
the  music  in  its  entirety.  The  physicist  with 
his  delicate  instruments,  listening  for  differ- 
ences of  pitch  or  examining  the  aspects  of  vi- 
bration, might  find  them  considerable;  still 
more  so  a  being  which  was  unable  to  hear 
the  music  at  all,  but  lived  entirely  in  the  realm 
of  partials  or  atmospheric  vibrations.  To 
such  a  being  the  irregularities  might  be  serious 
matters;  indeed,  they  might  constitute  the 
opaque,  irrational,  and  hopelessly  evil  aspects 
of  life.  And  yet  they  would  be  the  means 
by  which  larger  good  was  realised.  May 
we  too  regard  the  universe  as  a  gigantic 
tempered  system  of  experiences;  may  the 
discords,  defeats,  and  sufferings — great  from 
our  point  of  view,  but  slight  from  that  of  the 
totality — be  the  means  by  which,  higher 
values  are  attained;  and  may  we  hope  event- 
ually to  pass  into  the  domain  of  reality,  and 
share  in  the  beauty  we  have  helped  to  create  ? 
The   considerations    of   this   section    have 


On  Expansion  and  Contraction     209 

formed  a  digression.  We  have  purposely 
passed  from  the  realm  of  temporal  change  into 
a  region  of  more  general  observations.  The 
fundamental  object  of  the  essay  has  been  to 
enforce  just  this  broader  conclusion,  that  the 
aspects  of  human  life  may  form  the  fragmen- 
tary elements  of  higher  unities,  imperceptible 
from  our  restricted  point  of  view.  We  do 
not  insist  that  these  unities  depend  on  a  mag- 
nified temporal  sweep ;  they  may  and  they  may 
not.  But  one  conclusion  may  be  upheld  in  all 
seriousness :  and  that  is  the  general  proposition 
that  there  are  different,  interconnected  levels 
of  experience,  that  our  conduct  may  have 
unseen  results  of  which  we  have  no  conception, 
but  that  we  may  some  day  come  to  share 
these  results  through  a  radical  transformation 
of  being. 

Note,  p.  185  ct  seq. 

The  problems  involved  in  changes  of  temporal  span  are  so 
complex,  to  be  sure,  that  scientific  accuracy  can  hardly  be 
expected  in  dealing  with  them.  Von  Baer's  results  as  to 
changes  of  visual  appearance  depend  on  two  conditions:  (1) 
that  vibrations  exist  whose  rate  of  frequency  will,  under 
the  postulated  changes  of  span,  correspond  to  that  of  our 
own  light  rays;  (2)  that  these  vibrations  are  actually  emitted 
by  the  bodies  which  are  no\  visible. 

If  the  span  were  reduced  a  millionfold  it  would  require 
vibrations  a  million  times  as  rapid  as  those  of  light  to  affect 


210  Racial  Contrasts 

the  optic  nerve.  Do  such  vibrations  exist?  If  not,  the 
very  conditions  necessary  for  vision  will  be  lacking.  The 
same  will  be  true  if  the  vibrations  in  question,  though  ex- 
isting, are  not  connected  with  the  bodies  which  are  now 
visible.  Some  bodies  are  attuned  to  all  the  rays  in  the 
spectrum,  some  agree  with  a  limited  number  of  them,  and 
some  reflect  none  at  all.  So  it  is  conceivable  that  but  few 
or  none  of  our  visible  objects  would,  under  the  altered  cir- 
cumstances, send  back  the  rays  subserving  light. 

However,  we  may  neglect  these  possibilities,  and  proceed 
on  the  assumption  that  the  conditions  will  be  fulfilled. 
We  are  not  preparing  an  accurate  survey  of  a  known  region, 
but  are  indulging  in  semi-poetical  speculations  regarding 
the  unknown.  Our  object  is  to  suggest  the  peculiar  nature 
of  the  results  which  might  ensue  from  alterations  in  temporal 
span.  There  is  no  doubt  that  these  results  would  be  more 
remarkable  still  if  the  conditions  stated  were  not  fulfilled. 
It  is  impossible  to  picture  the  universe  in  that  case,  but  we 
can  be  assured  that  it  would  exhibit  wide  departures  from 
what  we  are  accustomed  to  seeing. 


ORGANIC  EVOLUTION  IN  THE  LIGHT 
OF  COMPARATIVE  PHILOLOGY 


211 


ORGANIC  EVOLUTION  IN  THE  LIGHT 
OF  COMPARATIVE  PHILOLOGY 


LANGUAGES  are  the  outcome  of  develop- 
ment. The  French  tongue  of  to-day 
grew  out  of  the  Old  French  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  and  the  Old  French  developed 
out  of  still  remoter  forms,  originating  ulti- 
mately in  the  Low  Latin  of  the  Romans. 
Latin,  again,  was  derived  from  a  more  ancient 
predecessor,  forming  the  root  both  of  the 
classic  idiom  and  various  other  primitive 
Italic  dialects.  The  Germanic  dialects  had 
their  origin  in  a  common  tongue,  likewise  the 
Slavonic.  All  the  so-called  Indo-European 
languages,  indeed,  could  be  traced  back,  were 
our  knowledge  complete,  to  one  original 
source.  Apart  from  historic  evidences,  there 
are  certain  indications  in  the  languages 
themselves  which  indubitably  point  to   this 

interrelation.     These  are  matched  by  corre- 

213 


214  Organic  Evolution  and 

sponding  phenomena  in  the  animal  and  vege- 
table kingdoms,  thus  suggesting  a  similar 
evolution. 

A  word  from  an  ancient  tongue  gradually 
alters  its  form  as  we  follow  it  through  the 
succeeding  dialects,  until  at  last  it  presents 
a  totally  different  aspect, — so  pronounced  in 
some  cases  that  a  superficial  examination  fails 
to  reveal  any  similarity  to  the  original  form. 
The  Latin  scribere  becomes  escrivre  in  Old 
French,  a  change  which  is  further  extended  in 
the  modern  icrire.  Alter  passes  into  altre,  and 
this  again  into  autre.  In  the  tenth  century 
anima  had  been  transformed  into  the  French 
anime;  by  the  eleventh  it  had  become  aneme, 
by  the  thirteenth  amne,  while  to-day  it  greets 
us  under  the  form  of  ame. 

In  view  of  such  phenomena,  recurring  in 
thousands  of  words  and  dozens  of  languages, 
we  should  be  led  to  the  hypothesis  of  a  gradual 
transformation  even  without  the  actual  his- 
toric evidence.  The  peculiarly  convincing 
feature  is  the  fact  that  the  alterations  all 
point  in  one  direction;  they  form  an  even, 
continuous  series,  the  members  of  which  lead 
from  end  to  end  by  gradual  and  more  or  less 
regular   steps,    just   as   a   tone   succeeds    its 


Comparative  Philology  215 

neighbour  in  the  musical  scale.  If  this  were 
not  so, — if  anima  were  succeeded  by  ame,  this 
by  amne  and  this  again  by  anime,  if  scribere 
were  followed  by  ecrire  and  ecrire  by  escrivre, 
— the  difficulties  besetting  the  proposed  ex- 
planation would  be  great.  As  it  is,  the  de- 
duction is  well  founded  that  the  later  forms  of 
a  series  are  outgrowths  of  the  former.  To 
regard  all  the  various  forms  as  independent 
creations,  fashioned  through  the  ingenuity  of 
man  or  by  the  fiat  of  some  deity,  and  without 
reference  to  the  previous  ones,  would  be  a 
monstrous  assumption. 

Exactly  similar  is  the  case  in  the  animal 
and  vegetable  kingdoms.  Geology  presents 
a  host  of  organic  remains  which,  in  a  broad 
and  general  way,  and  often  also  in  detail,  ex- 
hibit a  serial  change.  In  the  early  geologic 
ages  we  only  meet  with  the  very  lowest  forms 
of  invertebrate  life.  Higher  ones  follow,  but 
vertebrates  are  not  to  be  found  until  a  sub- 
sequent age.  They  are  originally  represented 
by  a  kind  of  reptilian  fish.  Later  this  passes 
into  true  fishes  on  the  one  hand,  resembling 
the  modern  ones,  and,  through  amphibians, 
into  genuine  reptiles  on  the  other.  Birds  and 
low  mammals  next  appear,  the  latter  grad- 


216  Organic  Evolution  and 

ually  passing  into  higher  and  more  specialised 
forms,  and  culminating  with  the  appearance 
of  man.  The  same  general  advance,  from  the 
lowest  to  the  highest  forms,  is  apparent  in  the 
vegetable  kingdom. 1  In  many  details,  like- 
wise, we  meet  with  the  identical  principle. 
Birds,  so  radically  distinct  from  other  ver- 
tebrates, and  especially  from  reptiles,  are 
connected  with  the  latter  by  certain  inter- 
vening members,  partly  reptile  and  partly 
bird.  True  mammals  are  preceded  by  mar- 
supials, whose  manner  of  producing  the 
young  is  intermediate  between  that  of  the 
higher  and  the  lower  orders.  Horses  are  at 
first  represented  by  small  animals  with  four 
toes;  the  size  gradually  increases  and  the 
number  of  toes  is  diminished,  until  at  present 
we  retain  but  a  single  one — the  hoof — while  the 
remnants  of  two  others — the  splint-bones — 
are  hidden  beneath  the  skin. 

Here,  also,  the  convincing  feature  lies  in 
the  constancy  of  direction.  To  be  sure,  there 
are  gaps  in  the  record,  and  many  links 
necessary  to  exhibit  the  process  in  its  com- 

1  In  general  our  illustrations  will  be  drawn  from  the  animal 
kingdom;  but  they  could  easily  be  duplicated  in  the  sister- 
realm. 


Comparative  Philology  2*7 

pleteness  are  lacking;  but  the  theory  of  evo- 
lution does  not  stand  alone  in  this  respect.  A 
series  of  words,  too,  may  lack  certain  members, 
yet  we  assume  the  connection  between  the 
newer  and  the  older  forms.  The  geological 
record,  indeed,  bears  great  resemblance  to  the 
remains  of  the  Indo-European  languages.  In 
some  cases  the  transformation  can  be  followed 
rather  closely  ;  in  others  extensive  lacunas 
exist  in  our  knowledge.  However,  there  are 
so  many  traces  of  progressive  change,  and  the 
whole  presents  such  a  general  appearance  of 
growth,  that  we  can  hardly  resist  the  force 
of  the  accumulated  evidence. 


ii 


The  preceding  remarks  deal  with  single 
lines  of  transformation;  but  as  a  branch  does 
not  confine  its  growth  to  a  solitary  course, — 
forking  out  instead  into  smaller  twigs, — so 
words  diverge  and  follow  separate  paths. 
The  Latin  mundus  has  not  only  developed 
into  the  French  monde,  but  a  simultaneous 
process  has  led  to  the  Italian  rnondo,  the 
Spanish  and  Portuguese  mundo,  and  the 
Provencal  mon.      Tempus  likewise   has  pro- 


218  Organic  Evolution  and 

duced  the  French  temps,  the  Italian  tempo, 
the  Spanish  tiempo  and  the  Wallachian 
timp.  If  it  were  possible  to  trace  the  his- 
tory of  a  native  Indo-European  word  from 
its  original  form  in  the  mother  tongue,  we 
should  very  likely  meet  with  an  initial  dis- 
junction corresponding  to  the  ancestral  lan- 
guages of  the  Eastern  and  Western  branches 
of  the  Aryan  race.  The  Western  form,  to  con- 
fine ourselves  to  this,  would  again  divide  into 
various  secondary  differentiations,  answer- 
ing to  the  mother  tongues  of  the  European 
subdivisions  of  this  race.  Each  of  these  would 
once  more  diverge  as  the  racial  ramification 
was  continued.  The  Teutonic  word  would 
branch  out  into  several  co-ordinate  members, 
corresponding  to  the  ancestors  of  the  Low 
German,  High  German,  and  Scandinavian 
tribes.  The  Italic  one  would  produce,  besides 
various  sister-forms,  the  distinctively  Roman 
or  Latin  type,  which  would  engender  the  forms 
characteristic  of  the  Romanic  nations.  The 
same  process  would  be  exemplified  in  other 
words  as  well,  and  would  consequently  apply 
to  the  languages  in  their  totality, — these 
being  nothing  but  collections  and  arrange- 
ments of  words.     The  result,  as  we  actually 


Comparative  Philology  2I9 

find  it,  is  that  treelike  classification  of  the 
Indo-European  languages,  in  which  one  great 
class  is  divided  into  numerous  constituent 
members,  which  are  again  subdivided  into 
smaller  and  smaller  divisions. 

In  the  grouping  of  organic  life,  the  first 
dichotomy  gives  rise  to  the  animal  and 
vegetable  kingdoms.  Both  of  these  are  again 
divided  into  sub-kingdoms,  the  sub-kingdoms 
into  classes,  the  classes  into  orders,  the  orders 
into  families,  the  families  into  genera,  and 
the  genera  into  species.  The  inference  from 
this  resemblance  would  not  unnaturally  be 
that  the  mode  of  origin  of  the  two  systems 
was  identical, — an  inference  which  is  strength- 
ened by  many  geological  facts.  "  In  the 
earliest  Eocene,"  remarks  Le  Conte,  "the 
great  branches  of  the  mammalian  class  were 
very  near  together,  though  their  point  of 
union  has  not  yet  been  found.  As  time 
went  on,  these  separated  more  and  more 
widely,  and  gave  off  sub-branches,  which 
again  divided,  and  so  on.  In  general 
terms,  it  may  be  said  that  some  of  the 
existing  orders  may  be  traced  back  to  the 
Eocene.  Many  of  the  existing  families 
commenced  in  the   Miocene;  existing  genera 


220  Organic  Evolution  and 

in   the   Pliocene;    but    existing    species  only 
in  the  Quaternary."1 

It  is  significant  when  one  line  of  evidence 
thus  exactly  matches  and  confirms  another. 
We  shall  repeatedly  meet  with  the  same 
mutual  furtherance  of  arguments. 


in 

Having  followed  the  verbal  mutations  along 
various  simultaneously  progressing  lines,  let 
us  compare  the  members  produced.  The 
following  table  presents  words  which  have 
sprouted  from  a  single  stem,  exhibiting  the 
forms  which  they  have  assumed  in  various 
interrelated  languages: — 


English 

two 

three 

seven 

thou 

me 

mother 

brother 

daughter 

Germanic 

Dutch 

twee 

drie 

zeven 

mij 

moeder 

breeder 

dochter 

Icel'ic 

tuo 

thriu 

si  6 

thu 

mik 

modhir 

brodhir 

dottir 

High- 

Germ'n 

zwei 

drei 

sieben 

du 

mich 

mutter 

bruder 

tochter 

Moeso- 

Gothic 

twa 

thri 

sibun 

thu 

mik 

brothar 

dauhtar 

Lith- 

uanic 

du 

tri 

septyni 

tu 

manen 

moter 

brolis 

dukter 

Slavonic 

dwa 

tri 

sedmi 

tii 

man 

mater 

brat 

dochy 

Celtic 

dau 

tri 

secht 

tu 

me 

mathair 

brathair 

dear  (??) 

Latin 

duo 

tres 

septem 

tu 

me 

mater 

frater 

Greek 

duo 

treis 

hepta 

sii 

me 

meter 

phrater 

thugater 

Persian 

dwa 

thri 

hapta 

turn 

me 

matar 

Sanskrit 

dwa 

tri 

sapta 

twam 

me 

matar 

bhratar 

duhitar 

(Taken    from    Whitney's    Language    and    the    Study    of 
Language,  p.  196.     New  York,  Charles  Scribner  &  Co.,  1868.) 

1  Le  Conte,  Compend  of  Geology,  New  York  [c.  1898],  p.  381. 


Comparative  Philology 


221 


The  first  thing  to  impress  us,  in  scanning  this 
table,  is  the  remarkable  similarity  of  the 
words  of  like  meaning.  There  are  differences 
of  detail,  but  they  are  always  superimposed 
upon  a  deeper  and  more  essential  resemblance. 
The  immediate  inference  is  that  there  must 
be  some  relation  between  the  various  forms, 
and  that  they  could  not  have  been  produced 
separately,  without  connection  with  one 
another.  Historical  information,  of  course, 
reveals  the  nature  of  the  relation:  the 
words  resemble  each  other  because  of  their 
common  origin;  in  the  course  of  time  they 
underwent  alterations  at  the  hands  of 
different  subdivisions  of  the  parent  stem, 
but  always  retained  a  resemblance  to  the 
original  form,  and  consequently  to  one 
another. 

In  the  organic  realms  also  there  are  funda- 
mental resemblances  or  types,  corresponding 
to  the  generic  similarities  of  the  words.  The 
skeletons  of  vertebrate  animals  form  a  cor- 
roboration. If  the  class  of  vertebrates  is 
analogous  to  the  system  of  Indo-European 
languages,  its  subdivisions  may  be  compared 
with  the  members  of  this  system;  but  since 
the  relations  between  languages  are  typified 


222  Organic  Evolution  and 

perfectly  in  single  representative  words,  like 
those  above,  they  may  also  be  compared 
with  the  words.  As  in  these,  there  is  an 
essential  resemblance  throughout,  coexisting 
with  the  greatest  variety  of  accidental  differ- 
ences. The  structural  nucleus  is  the  vertebral 
column,  ending  at  one  extremity  with  the 
head,  at  the  other  with  the  tail.  To  this  are 
(indirectly)  attached  the  limbs,  which  consist 
of  a  single  bone  joined  to  the  framework, 
a  double  one  for  the  fore  limbs,  and  numerous 
smaller  members  which  culminate  at  the 
extremities  in  fingers,  toes,  and  so  forth. 
The  parts  may  be  twisted  about  most  ex- 
travagantly, and  may  subserve  the  great- 
est variety  of  functions,  yet  there  is  always 
the  same  fundamental  resemblance.  In  the 
human  being  and  bird,  only  the  two  hind 
limbs  are  used  for  walking;  in  the  horse  and 
lion,  all  four;  the  limbs  of  the  bird  and  bat 
are  instrumental  in  flying,  those  of  the  seal 
have  been  modified  for  swimming.  In  some 
cases  they  are  covered  by  hair,  in  other  in- 
stances by  feathers,  and  at  times  again  by 
a  smooth  skin.  The  fingers  of  the  bat  are 
elongated  to  such  an  extent  as  nearly  to 
equal  the  body  in  length;  the  pterodactyl,  an 


Comparative  Philology  223 

extinct  species,  had  a  single  finger  thus 
fantastically  enlarged.  Reptiles  and  whales 
have  long  bodies  and  short  limbs;  human 
beings,  monkeys,  and  cows,  long  limbs  and 
proportionally  short  bodies.  In  some  families 
the  tail  is  prominent,  in  others  it  is  only 
moderate  in  size,  and  in  still  others,  like  the 
human  being,  it  is  represented  by  a  mere 
remnant.  Yet,  in  spite  of  all  these  startling 
variations,  there  is  no  more  doubt  regarding 
the  identity  of  form  throughout  than  there 
is  concerning  the  resemblance  of  the  words 
in  the  table. 

Here  also  there  must  be  a  relation;  the 
animals  could  not  all  have  been  produced 
separately  and  independently  of  one  another. 
And  the  same  explanation  presents  itself 
again:  they  are  interrelated  through  genetic 
ties,  their  similarity  being  the  result  of  deriva- 
tion from  a  common  source.  This  conclusion 
is  rendered  doubly  plausible  through  the 
solidarity  or  organisation  of  the  resem- 
blances. If  the  Latin  mundus  and  tempus 
were  in  Italian  transposed  into  domon  and 
potem,  while  Portuguese  exchanged  the 
syllables  so  as  to  produce  munpo  and 
temdo,    the    relations    between    the    various 


224  Organic  Evolution  and 

forms  would  be  dubious  in  nature. l  Every- 
thing in  the  parent  words  would  be  retained 
in  the  derivatives,  to  be  sure,  but  the  "ho- 
mology" of  the  parts,  their  collocation  and 
grouping,  would  be  inexplicable.  Now,  just 
as  the  various  elements  of  a  word  always  hang 
together  in  their  proper  places  in  all  the  related 
forms,  so  the  organic  aspects  of  a  species  of 
animals  correspond,  homologically,  to  those 
of  the  other  species  in  the  same  class.  There 
is  no  chaotic  shifting  of  members,  as  in  the 
Italian  words,  and  the  members  never  take 
it  into  their  heads  to  jump  from  one  division 
of  the  animal  kingdom  into  another,  as  in 
those  from  the  Portuguese  tongue.  The 
sequence  of  bones  in  the  limbs  is  never  re- 
versed: we  never  find  five  bones  next  to  the 
framework  and  one  at  the  extremity.  The 
internal,  jointed  skeleton  of  the  vertebrates 
goes  with  their  brain,  red  blood,  and  five 
senses;  the  external  skeleton  of  the  insects 
with  their  white  blood  and  nervous  ganglia. 
No  creature  with  an  external  skeleton  has  a 
central  brain,  none  with  an  internal  frame- 
work  has   white   blood.     If   evolution   were 

1  The  Italian  forms,  it  will  be  remembered,  are  mondo  and 
tempo,  the  Portuguese  ones  are  mundo  and  tempo. 


Comparative  Philology  225 

not  the  true  hypothesis,  if  every  type  of  life 
were  independently  created,  without  reference 
to  the  others,  there  is  no  reason  why  the 
members  of  the  body  might  not  arbitrarily 
be  shaken  up  and  rearranged,  or  why  a  spe- 
cies might  not  possess  some  of  the  essential 
features  of  one  class,  and  some  of  another; — 
why,  for  example,  a  sea  urchin  might  not, 
along  with  a  general  organisation  resembling 
its  own,  possess  limbs  like  those  of  vertebrates, 
or  why  an  alligator  might  not  have  six  or 
more  legs,  similar  to  many  articulates.  An 
animal's  organism  is  conjugated  entirely  in 
the  language  of  its  class.  A  vertebrate  is 
a  vertebrate  throughout,  an  insect  is  an 
insect.  This  is  so  even  where  there  is  ap- 
parent similarity,  among  members  of  different 
classes,  and  where  the  functions  and  modes  of 
life  are  similar.  A  butterfly  resembles  a  bird 
in  the  possession  of  wings  and  the  ability  to 
fly,  but  with  respect  to  fundamental  structure 
there  is  no  agreement  whatsoever.  A  snake 
has  the  same  appearance  as  a  worm  or 
caterpillar,  yet  its  essential  formation  is  highly 
different.  Essentially  it  is  more  closely  allied 
to  gorillas,  while  the  caterpillar  takes  rank 
with  the  butterfly. 
is 


V 


226  Organic  Evolution  and 

The  reference  to  these  cases  of  apparent 
resemblance,  accompanying  essential  differ- 
ence, leads  to  another  feature  characteristic 
of  verbal  developments,  which  further  am- 
plifies the  analogy  between  the  two  realms. 
Words,  likewise,  have  superficial  resemblances 
attending  fundamental  disparity.  I  refer  to 
those  parts  of  speech  which  sound  alike  but 
are  spelled  differently,  mean  different  things, 
and  have  different  origins,  such  as  one,  won; 
been,  bin;  I  and  eye.  The  resemblance  in 
these  cases  corresponds  to  that  between  the 
wings  of  the  butterfly  and  bird,  superficial 
in  nature  and  without  foundation  in  deeper 
identity. 

One  more  structural  feature  must  be  men- 
tioned. Many  words  contain  letters  which 
are  never  pronounced;  examples  are  the  w 
in  two  and  the  gh  in  thought,  might,  and  right. 
The  explanation  of  the  silent  letters  is  that 
they  were  originally  sounded,  but  were  later 
omitted,  although  retained  in  the  spelling. 
The  w  in  two  is  matched  in  the  Latin  duo,  the 
Slavonic  dwa,  and  the  German  zwei,  the  gh 
referred  to,  in  the  German  dacht,  Macht,  and 
Recht.  Similar  in  principle  are  the  cases 
where  a  letter  represents  a  contraction  of  an 


Comparative  Philology  227 

older  syllable  or  word.  Instances  abound  in 
English  proper  names,  such  as  Stevens,  Rich- 
ards, Williams, — the  5  being  an  abbreviation 
of  son.  Indeed,  in  most  of  these  cases  a  fuller 
form,  approximating  the  original  more  closely, 
still  remains  coexisting  with  the  other,  as 
in  Stevenson,  Richardson,  and  Williamson. 
Finally,  there  are  words  in  which  every  trace 
of  members  which  were  formerly  present  has 
been  lost.  Witness  the  French  un,  in  which 
the  last  syllable  of  the  Latin  unus  has  com- 
pletely disappeared,  and  the  English  bring  and 
weight,  which  have  dropped  the  an  and  ge  of 
the  Anglo-Saxon  bringan  and  gewiht. 

This  presence  of  useless  or  abortive  mem- 
bers, bearing  the  aspect  of  remnants,  finds  its 
precise  analogue  in  the  realm  of  life.  Indeed, 
it  is  one  of  the  most  significant  arguments 
for  evolution.  Many  cave-fish  possess  useless, 
rudimentary  eyes,  destined  never  to  see. 
Certain  insects  have  undeveloped  wings,  to- 
tally unserviceable  for  flying.  Human  beings 
carry  about  the  rudiments  of  a  tail  in  the 
lower  bones  of  the  vertebral  column.  Whales 
are  furnished  with  dwarfed  bones  correspond- 
ing to  the  hind  legs  of  their  fellow- vertebrates ; 
and  the  same  is  true  of  certain  snakes.     The 


228  Organic  Evolution  and 

case  of  snakes  is  especially  interesting,  as  only 
a  single  variety  retains  these  remnants,  while 
the  majority  show  no  trace  of  them;  these 
correspond,  accordingly,  to  the  words  in 
which  every  vestige  of  certain  syllables  has 
been  lost.  Finally,  we  may  mention  the 
splint-bones  of  horses,  referred  to  above 
as  the  remains  of  former  members,  and  the 
stunted  toes  of  dogs  and  cows.  The  only 
plausible  explanation  of  the  presence  of  such 
useless  appendages  is  afforded  by  the  hypo- 
thesis of  evolution.  All  these  rudiments  are 
relics  of  former  organs.  Like  the  philological 
parallels,  they  have  dwindled  away,  for 
reasons  beyond  the  scope  of  this  inquiry, 
to  abortive  vestiges.  In  some  instances 
the  reduction  has  been  carried  so  far  that 
every  trace  of  the  organs  has  disappeared. 
The  evidence  for  evolution  is  especially  strong 
where,  as  in  the  case  of  the  splint-bones,  we 
possess  the  actual  fossil  remains  of  forms  in 
which  the  dwindling  had  not  yet  begun. 

IV 

The  resemblance  between  related  languages 
is  greater  in  some  instances  than  in  others. 


Comparative  Philology  229 

This  is  especially  apparent  in  the  number  of 
native  words  bearing  a  genetic  similarity  to 
each  other.  The  parts  of  speech  resembling 
one  another  in  Sanscrit  and  the  Western 
tongues  are  comparatively  few;  those  in 
Greek  and  Latin  are  more  numerous;  while 
closely  related  dialects,  like  Swedish,  Nor- 
wegian, and  Danish,  employ  almost  the  iden- 
tical stock  of  words.  The  degree  of  affinity 
between  the  words  in  question  also  varies  from 
tongue  to  tongue.  The  Provencal  paire  and 
man  are  similar  to  the  French  pere  and  main, 
but  differ  considerably  from  the  Italian  padre 
and  mano.  Italian  words,  again,  show  more 
resemblance  to  Latin  than  to  French  ones, 
Portuguese  to  Spanish  than  to  Wallachian. 
In  general,  the  resemblance  between  lan- 
guages is  greatest  where  the  languages  are 
most  closely  related,  and  least  where  the  affin- 
ity is  remote.  But  those  tongues  are  most 
closely  related  in  case  of  which  the  separation 
of  the  nations  which  speak  them,  or  the  deri- 
vation from  the  common  mother  tongue,  was 
recent,  while  those  are  more  distantly  affili- 
ated which  are  the  result  of  a  longer  isolation. 
In  other  words,  the  amount  of  divergence 
tends  to  vary  directly  as  the  period  during 


2 3°  Organic  Evolution  and 

which  the  process  of  differentiation  was  con- 
tinued. 

Here,  again,  organic  life  affords  a  parallel. 
The  flora  and  fauna  of  geographical  regions 
which  have  long  been  severed — through  inter- 
vening seas,  mountain-chains,  and  the  like — 
show  wider  divergences  than  is  the  case  where 
the  isolation  has  been  less  ancient.  Conti- 
nents separated  by  oceans  are  stocked  with 
totally  different  forms  of  life,  although  the 
climatic  conditions  may  offer  no  obstacle 
to  the  existence  of  similar  species.  The 
mammals  of  islands  separated  from  the  main- 
land by  shallow  straits  of  water  differ  less 
from  those  of  the  mainland  than  the  mam- 
mals of  islands  which  are  sundered  by  deeper 
channels,  the  reason  being  that  the  insulation 
is  probably  more  recent  in  the  former  than  in 
the  latter  case.  A  curious  confirmation  of 
the  same  principle  is  afforded  by  the  Malay 
Archipelago,  where  the  quadrupeds  on  each 
side  of  an  imaginary  line  through  the  water 
show  greater  differences  than  those  of  the  va- 
rious constituent  islands.  Soundings  reveal 
that  the  water  along  this  line  is  deeper  than 
elsewhere,  thus  again  indicating  a  difference 
in  the  period  of  separation. 


Comparative  Philology  231 

Another  remarkable  fact  is  that  existing 
animals  resemble  in  type  the  fossil  species 
of  their  respective  continents.  If  a  modern 
French  word  had  been  preceded,  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  by  the  Anglo-Saxon  form  of  the  same 
word,  while  the  English  equivalent  had 
similarly  been  antedated  by  the  Old  French, 
there  would  be  reason  for  surprise,  and  the 
transformation  of  one  form  into  the  other 
would  not  be  evident.  Similar  would  be  the 
condition  if  the  living  species  of  one  continent 
resembled  the  dead  ones  of  another,  and  vice 
versa,  a  state  of  affairs  which  would  be  per- 
fectly natural  if  all  species  had  been  separately 
created.  If  the  violation  of  the  principle 
of  continuity,  however,  speaks  against  the 
theory  of  evolution,  its  observance  ought  to  be 
an  argument-  for  it. 


The  preceding  lines  of  proof  have  all  been 
based  on  the  analogy  with  language.  There 
is  one  highly  significant  feature  of  the  organic 
realm,  however,  involved  in  embryological 
development,  which  fails  to  find  its  analogue 
in   the   realm   of   words.     The   growth   of   a 


232  Organic  Evolution  and 

person's  character  has  often  been  regarded 
as  a  miniature  representation  of  the  develop- 
ment of  the  whole  race,  the  individual  passing 
through  the  same  stages  which  the  nations 
have  traversed  before  him  in  the  course  of 
time.  However  true  or  untrue  this  may  be, 
it  is  a  fact  that  many  animals  embryonically 
exhibit  the  stages  which  their  forerunners 
must  have  traversed  according  to  the  theory 
of  evolution;  and  this,  reason  the  evolution- 
ists, is  just  what  might  be  expected  on 
the  basis  of  their  doctrine.  Man,  for  ex- 
ample, 

begins  from  a  speck  of  living  matter  similar  to  that 
from  which  the  development  of  a  plant  begins.  And, 
when  his  animality  becomes  established,  he  exhibits 
the  fundamental  anatomical  qualities  which  char- 
acterise such  lowly  animals  as  the  jelly-fish.  Next 
he  is  marked  off  as  a  vertebrate,  but  it  cannot  be 
said  whether  he  is  to  be  a  fish,  a  snake,  a  bird  or  a 
beast.  Later  on  it  is  evident  that  he  is  to  be  a  mam- 
mal; but  not  till  still  later  can  it  be  said  to  which 
order  of  mammals  he  belongs. 1      " 

At  one  time  he  reveals  piscal  traits,  at 
others  he  manifests  surprising  resemblances 

1  Romanes,  The  Scientific  Evidences  of  Organic  Evolution, 
London,  1882,  p.  64. 


Comparative  Philology  233 

to  his  fellow  mammals :  his  great  toes  pro- 
ject at  an  angle  from  the  foot,  he  has  a 
tail,  longer  than  the  legs,  and  during  the 
sixth  month  of  embryonic  life  he  is  covered 
from  head  to  foot  with  hair,  except  only  the 
palms  of  his  hands  and  soles  of  his  feet. 
What  is  especially  remarkable  is  that  the 
sequence  of  conditions  agrees  so  closely  with 
the  general  development  of  life  on  the  planet, 
as  revealed  by  geology,  and  indicated  in  a 
previous  section.  There  is  a  parallelism  be- 
tween the  two,  the  one  forming  a  miniature 
copy  or  epitome  of  the  other. 

Passing  from  individual  species  to  whole 
classes  of  animals,  we  again  meet  with  a 
remarkable  parallelism.  Beginning  with  a 
common  progenitor  and  simultaneously  pro- 
gressing along  their  special  lines,  the  members 
of  a  class  have,  according  to  the  doctrine  of 
evolution,  given  rise  to  a  tree  of  life  in  which 
single  primitive  forms  split  into  ever-increas- 
ing ramifications.  This  process  is  strikingly 
pictured  in  the  embryological  development 
of  many  related  species.  The  first  stages  are 
alike  in  such  cases,  no  matter  how  highly 
differentiated  the  adult  animals  may  be. 
Then  the   greater  subdivisions   of  the   class 


2 34  Organic  Evolution  and 


begin  to  appear,  and  later  the  more  minute 
ones,  until  finally  the  species  stand  forth 
clearly  separated  from  one  another.  The 
facts  of  geology,  classification,  and  embryology 
accordingly  all  agree  with  each  other,  one 
line  of  argument  reinforcing  the  other,  and  all 
together  raising  an  almost  irresistible  presump- 
tion in  favour  of  the  doctrine  of  evolution. 

In  this  solidarity  or  organisation  of  the 
lines  of  proof  lies  one  of  the  most  convincing 
features  of  the  evidence.  Everything  tends  in 
one  direction,  everything  supports  the  evolu- 
tionary hypothesis,  nothing  runs  counter  to 
it;  at  most,  there  are  gaps  in  the  evidence, 
which,  however,  are  easily  explained  by  the 
imperfection  of  the  records.  The  facts  of  em- 
bryology cover  those  of  geology,  as  well  as  of 
classification.  The  argument  from  rudimen- 
tary structures  is  confirmed  by  geology  in 
cases  like  that  of  the  horse ;  and  where  a  rudi- 
ment, like  the  human  tail,  is  embryonically 
preceded  by  a  larger  organ,  embryology  and 
morphology  reinforce  each  other;  the  simi- 
larity of  the  living  and  fossil  organisms  of  a 
continent,  finally,  affords  an  agreement  be- 
tween the  facts  of  geology  and  geographical 
distribution. 


Comparative  Philology  235 

Not  only,  therefore,  do  the  lines  of  phe- 
nomena individually  show  a  remarkable  re- 
semblance to  those  of  comparative  philology, 
but  they  exhibit  a  solidarity  which  is  highly 
convincing;  and  in  the  facts  of  embryology, 
both  in  their  isolation  and  their  connection 
with  the  other  phenomena,  there  is  an  ad- 
ditional body  of  evidence,  which  seems  to 
render  the  case  for  organic  evolution  even 
stronger  than  that  for  the  transformation  of 
languages.  The  only  advantage  on  the  phi- 
lological side  springs  from  the  actual  historic 
evidence  of  a  transformation.  This  of  course 
we  shall  never  possess  in  the  case  of  the  organic 
realm;  the  process  of  evolution  had  no 
eye-witnesses  who  might  have  transmitted 
their  knowledge  to  us.  But  if  ever  an  in- 
ference regarding  facts  not  directly  expe- 
rienced was  justified,  it  would  seem  to  be 
the  present  one.  So  coercive  is  the  evidence 
that  it  virtually  amounts  to  demonstration. 


236  Organic  Evolution  and 


Note,  p.  220 

As  a  counterpart  of  the  table  of  words,  we 
subjoin  a  figure  representing  the  anterior  limbs 
of  certain  vertebrates  (taken  from  Steele's 
Fourteen  Weeks  in  Zoology),  which  illustrates 
the  typical  similarities  of  the  species  in 
question. 


Comparative  Philology  237 


Man.  (3^— 


Ape. 

Bat. 

Mole. 
Dog. 


Seal. 


Deer* 


Whale. 


Bird, 


Tortoise. 
Fteh. 


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